


A Touch for Silence

by mockinrine



Series: To Freeze or To Thaw [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Slow Burn to Buckle Up for Cause It's Gonna be Wild, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt, Like Extra Mega Super Slow Burn, Pining, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-01-06 13:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12211917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockinrine/pseuds/mockinrine
Summary: Daenerys lost everything the day Euron Greyjoy blew that accursed horn, enslaving her children and banishing her from Meereen. She traveled for months to get to the one place where she could find the shelter to develop her plans: the Wall. Now, she stands before the Lord Commander, a young man by the name of Jon Snow, a plea on her tongue and fascination in her eyes. With one single choice of his, their lives will change forever.Season 5/A Dance with Dragons AU.





	1. A Blue Flower In A Chink Of Ice

**Author's Note:**

> how's it going, fellas? i present this story both nervously and excitedly because it means a lot to me and i can only hope it will bring you all as much joy as it does to me. 
> 
> first things first, this started out as some sort of a project between myself a friend of mine. dany's povs are largely her doing while jon's (and several others') are mine. like the tags say, this is a particularly ambitious slow burn, but trust me when i say that the payoff will totally be worth it. we started working on it during the hiatus before season 7 and it's still ongoing, so plenty of material awaits.
> 
> another thing: we've mixed book and show elements. we kept the stuff in the show that we liked more (like davos and daario or jon looking like kit hair and eye color wise) and kept plenty of things from the books (val, satin, dany's and melisandre's appearance, etc.) 
> 
> anyway, i won't keep babbling on for much longer. this story is my baby and i'm really excited to share it, so if you would like to experience the wonders of jonerys in different circumstances, grab your popcorn and enjoy the ride!

**DAENERYS I**

As a child, Daenerys had heard tales of the harsh winds of the North. Her brother had spoken about savages, giants, and a giant wall of ice that would stretch from west to east, as tall as the horizons and grazing the clouds. With all the things she had heard, it was clearly a contrast to her own life in Essos, where the sun always burned, where the sand dunes could quickly erase all tracks and paths in the desert. The sun was the enemy on the other side of the sea, it was life and death. She had seen what the sun could do to people, how delirious thirsty people were and how sick it could make children, horrors of peeling, scorched skin haunting her dreams. She had never thought she would miss its intense warmth, but traveling through the North and with barely a single ray of sunshine breaking through the thick layers of clouds, she found herself longing for its blazes, no matter how much damage they were capable of causing.

The North certainly had its own beauty. At first, it was rough, and wild, and green. There were endlessly rolling hills, mountains, and great grass plains with nothing but plants and stones. The beauty truly captivated her when she saw the ground was covered in white. At one point, she promptly got off her white horse, much to the dismay of her company. A hand gingerly craned out as she crouched by the side of the road, a curved, pebbled path through the woods, away from the curious eyes lurking on the kingsroad. Her fingertips pressed into the winter blanket, the cold bolting through her veins, leaving her skin numb. With eyes wide in fascination, she scooped some of the snow into her palm, ignoring the uncanny burning senzation that developed in her flesh. With one reluctant close of her fist, she started feeling it melt, gradually warm up against the heat of her skin.

The moment hastily ended, for she had to resume her journey to the far end of the North. She had to reach the Wall before her enemies learned of her destination. Standing back straight, she whirred around, taking a moment to observe the same gleams of fascination etched through the faces of her loyal followers – Unsullied, six in total, as much as she could get away with during the chaos of her escape. At the Wall, no one could touch her as soon as the gate closed behind her. She would be safe at Castle Black if only she could convince the Lord Commander that she was worth protecting. She had been told that no women resided there, she had been warned of rapists and thieves, but even criminals were better than falling into the hands of Euron Greyjoy and ending up the victim of his crazy ambitions.

Thinking back on that abhorrent moment was not easy for Daenerys. Euron Crow-Eye had shown up on her doorstep during a great moment of need, when Meereen had been spiraling out of control, when all she had been able to dream of was how blessed it would be to find new allies, a bigger army, and, most importantly, ships. The latter was what the Greyjoys specialized in, his brother, Victarion, had proudly proclaimed. Euron had arrived with an armada at his back, forces of the ironborn, and promises of his unwavering loyalty, for all he sought was independence for his kingdom.

Of course, that had not lasted very long. Somewhere in between this newly forged alliance and that dark day, Dany had crossed paths with Tyrion Lannister. When allowed to spill his wisdom, one of his first pieces of advice had been to sever ties with Euron and Victarion. The Greyjoys knew nothing of promises and honor and she ought to expect a great price for his help some day. And when she had dared confront Euron about what his intentions truly were, that was when hell had unleashed.

He had stepped out into the balcony of the Great Pyramid, unsheathed a strange horn tied at his hip, and blown it once. Daenerys had heard a screech, the flutter of dragon wings, and everything after had been a blur. When Drogon had started raining fire down on the stationed Unsullied, her own horror had left her paralyzed. It had been Grey Worm and the other five that were currently with her now that had escorted her outside, despite how hard she had clawed, and fought, and screamed out of fear for her children, who no longer listened to her.

At the exit, she had only been given a fleeting moment with Tyrion and Varys, both of them who had brief and quick directions to give. “Sail to Westeros,” Tyrion had said, the pained screeches of dragons booming in her ears. “Varys will find you allies in Westeros. Go to the Wall. It’s the only place that knows no allegiance, that knows no king.”

She had barely made it away and to the docks, where a ship that allegedly transported fish between Meereen and Pentos awaited. It turned out the crew had been paid generously by the Spider to safely get her across the Narrow Sea. She had sailed through the waters of Slaver’s Bay again, picking up whispers of the chaos tearing apart Astapor and Yunkai. They had gone through the Gulf of Grief, forced to make a detour past the ruins of Valyria; the captain had been too afraid to sail on the waters of the Smoking Sea. They had made stops at Volantis, at Lys, and at Tyrosh, constantly on the run, knowing Euron had sent his acolytes to trace her steps.

And then they had finally reached the Narrow Sea, voyaging past Estermont, and Tarth, and Dragonstone, which her heart had ached for even though it had been nothing but a distant blotch on the horizon. When they had passed the Fingers, leaving the Narrow Sea behind for the Shivering Sea, that had been the moment when the cold started to creep through her bones. The ship had turned left past the Three Sisters, docking after months of travels at White Harbor, as far as this particular ship had been allowed to travel. From then on, Daenerys had been forced to make the journey on foot, crossing almost the entirety of the North through deserted roads hidden among tall and scrawny trees.  

After another night of freezing in a tent left to the mercy of the cold and the harsh winds, she could finally see the Wall in the distance. Even from a great distance, the border and defense between the North and the frozen lands beyond it looked awe-inspiring and impossibly great, unjustly described by her brother seemingly eons before. She retold the story of Bran the Builder as she remembered it to her companions. She only recalled fragments of the hero of House Stark, but it was enough to entertain her loyal guards, who had been quite literally thrown into a whole new world.

As they got closer, Daenerys felt herself actually feeling nervous. She had no right to stay at the Wall and, worst of all, she could do nothing if she was going to be sent away. She had no trust in the great houses, the Greyjoys had betrayed her and so could the others. Why would anyone follow her without her dragons? She had nothing to offer, no promise of protection or aid could be given to anyone, not until her children returned to her. Her fate was left to chance, she depended on others to show her the mercy that she had provided her own people once. Much to her dismay, she had to rely on the empathy and pity of a man that she knew nothing of.

All of these thoughts were abandoned when the small party reached the gates. Her hood shielded her identity from the guards standing above and her eyes were fixed on the white mane of her horse. “We seek refuge from the cold,” she called out, trying to keep her voice composed against the frigid thrills of the cold. “We come with provisions.”

Dany could not decipher what words were being exchanged between the guards next. She stood rooted in place in silence as they descended from their posts, opening the gates to greet her and her party outside of Castle Black’s walls. “What kind of provisions?” asked one gruff man, his chest puffed and shoulders high, clearly trying to make an impression.

“Meat and wine,” Grey Worm interfered, fortunately. She was grateful to see the attention of the three guards adverted toward her companion. Even though her silver-gold hair was safely tucked underneath a hood, the lilac bloomed in her eyes could easily betray her identity. And if she were to be turned away, she refused for it to be at the hand of anyone but the Lord Commander.

Grey Worm and the three chatted for a while and then, finally, one of the black-donned men strolled toward the gates, pushing them open some more. “Go on inside then.”

Dany heaved a small breath of relief, quickly transmuted into a cloud against the harsh cold. She had been told the promise of a great meal and a cup of wine might soften the hardened men of the Night’s Watch, but moons on that godforsaken ship had left her disheartened toward the smallest of things.

When the gates were properly opened, she rode in before her guards had the chance to. She might have to hide her true identity at first, but she would leave no doubt of who was the leader. She could feel eyes on her as she rode through the courtyard. _They will all stare at you_. _They are not staring at the Dragon Queen, all they see is a woman,_ she recalled the warning she had been given by the crew on the ship. The men of the Night’s Watch were not used to women, they were isolated in the dark castle with only each other for company.

A whirlwind of whispers was unleashed all around her. Some were subtle, some were not.

“I dreamed of her last night,” Dany heard, accidentally listening in to the conversation closest to her.

“Fuck off,” grunted another man. “You’d be lucky to get on with her horse, Rast.”

The rest of the exchange was lost to her as the steps of her mare led her further into the courtyard. But something told her she did not wish to know how it ended regardless.

She dismounted her horse when one of the men in dark cloaks took a hold of the reins. She avoided eye contact with the man as he led her mare away to the stables. “She is not used to the cold, I would be grateful if you give her extra hay for warmth.” The words were soft but commanding, she only hoped that the boy would take orders from a woman. As the men gathered around to watch the party, she could feel her guards getting into position behind her, ready to defend her if need be.

“I wish to speak with the Lord Commander,” Dany said to anyone that might be listening. She held her head higher as the words left her mouth. Her voice was slightly trembling but not with fear, the cold was still harsh even in the courtyard. Dany was frozen to her bones, she had hoped the fire in her blood would have kept her warm, but it stood no chance against the icy winds of the North. She caught the gaze of a young man when she noticed no one was moving to fetch their leader. She opened her mouth to bark out another order, but she soon heard a slight commotion on the stairs above her.

She raised her gaze slightly and her eyes quickly landed on a figure dressed all in black like all of the men around her, but she could tell by the way that the others stepped aside that he was their leader. Her own people had shown her that respect once. She kept her eyes on him as he neared her, not wanting to appear weak or frightened. Her blue cloak whipped around her dark dress, but the hood with the white fur lining withstood the wind and kept her identity hidden. Her name had only ever inspired two reactions – either her Targaryen name demanded loyalty or it awoke hate and anger, there had been no in between yet. This was neutral ground but she was unsure of where she stood, no one had ever looked at her with neutrality, everyone always had an opinion of her before even meeting her.

The man got closer, allowing Dany to distinguish his image better, catching side of a tangled mass of dark curls and equally dark eyes. She tucked her hood closer around her, able to only hope this man would not judge her before knowing her. The Targaryens were not loved in the North, but all she would ask for was a chance to prove why she and her men were worth protecting. She just needed a chance to speak with him. Daenerys tried to prevent herself from shaking under the cloak, but the ride had been long and hard, it had drained both her warmth and energy.

When he halted, she took it as her cue to speak, “Lord Commander?” Her tone was hesitant and trying. After all, she was still unsure of who she was actually addressing. If this truly were the Lord Commander, the man was younger than she had expected. Could he truly be the one to determine her fate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew! here we go! this was more of a prologue of sorts rather than a proper chapter, but the dany and jon interaction starts next time, so do not fret. lots of exciting things are coming, so tune in for future chapters and let's get engaged in this feel fest together, ya-ya? 
> 
> this fic will be updated weekly.
> 
> EDIT: new chapters will now be released once every 4-5 days instead!


	2. Behind A Cloak's Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Lord Commander's study, Daenerys tries to convince Jon to grant her the shelter she so desperately craves. But there is one big obstacle standing in her way and it is not her gender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surpriiiiiise! holy cow! i did not expect the overwhelmingly positive response the first chapter has gotten! y'all have been so amazingly supportive that i couldn't just leave you hanging like this, especially not without a proper, fleshy chapter. so, ta-da! here's a surprise chapter two, double the size of the previous one. hopefully it will make the wait til next week easier to cope with, haha.
> 
> once again, thank you so much for the amazing support and i hope you enjoy this very first interaction between our babies. <3

**JON I**

The men of the Night’s Watch hardly had the luxury of a good slumber. They were paralyzed by fear, by cold, by their memories, or a gust that made all of them swirl through their heads at once. Even those that have already spent nearly all their lives at the Wall struggled to shut their eyes, being forced awake by the chilling howls of northern winds shaking the creaky windows of Castle Black in their frames. Those in position of power suffered the same, even more. If one brother couldn’t properly wield his sword in the training court the next day, that was their responsibility.

Jon had gotten used a while ago to fear, to the cold, to his regrets and his memories. What kept him truly restless were all the whispers of his responsibilities constantly creeping at the back of his mind. The Watch was collapsing, a war was approaching, his own men were divided by a vision that no other Lord Commander before Jon Snow had dared to construct. There were times when it seemed like the more he tried to dig his fingers in and climb his way out of a pit, the deeper it went and he always fell back down.

Regardless, none of this could ever carry any finality to it. If he stopped fighting, what would be left? Half of the men of the Watch chose to go against centuries-old regulations and their own brothers to support his beliefs while the other half needed to be proven that they were wrong. Worst of all, all of the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms still lived in oblivion. To some extent, battling giants, mammoths, and White Walkers sounded much easier than trying to convince Southerners that their bedtime stories were coming to life.

None of this was eased in any way by the blizzard that had shaken the Wall the night prior. Many of the windows of Castle Black needed to be restored, Jon realized. All the noise and sprinkles of snow blew through the cracks like a summer breeze through a court lady’s hair. Some of the men complained that the snow fell on their heads as they slept – a humorous imagery for some, of course, but one more bullet point on the Lord Commander’s already mile-long list of necessities the Watch was desperately craving. He was advised to give up on his ambition to repopulate the other castles or to create ways to preserve crops through the harshness of upcoming winter. That was a last-call solution, he thought. When he would show up before the Southern lords and the King, he would need to present an evolving Watch, one with the ambition to be restored to its former glory. He had to cling to every chance of boosted credibility he could. None of these things had arisen overnight. They’ve been intoxicating his thoughts like a plague and reinforced his sleeplessness that the blizzard had instilled.

Luckily, the morning after was quiet, the calm at the end of a storm. Snow carpets covered the roofs, the tops of the gates, the top of the Wall, and the courtyard. It was strictly a cleaning duty today, much to the dismay of the brothers in black appointed to carrying handcarts of snow on and off the top of the Wall. With the speed of the transporting cage, it would take them a little bit after sunset until they’d finish their duties. Jon was grateful for the slow day on his part. He was stuck at his desk, replying to the letters of those who had accepted the Watch’s pleas for help, not that many in numbers. He figured he’d leave the negative responses to a better day, just so his spirits wouldn’t plummet any more.

After a couple of hours of scribbling, though, he reached a blockage. With his temple rested against his knuckles, he’d been doing nothing but idly tapping the tip of his quill against the desk for the past few minutes. A sigh fell off his lips, as if snapped from a daze, and his chair echoed a soundly creak as he straightened his back, riddled by numbness and a hollow ache.

He was about to stand up and take a break, go for a walk to observe the progress on cleaning duties, when a knock on the door stopped him before he could stand up. Instinctively, he did so anyway, turning to face his visitor.

“Lord Commander,” he greeted and Jon dipped his head in response, “there’s some folk saying they seek refuge for provisions.”

Jon’s brows furrowed gently, the corners of his eyes slipping toward the window filled by frozen webs before his gaze found the other brother again. This had happened before, albeit not that often, so Jon settled on addressing one plain question, “How many?”

It looked like the young man was struggling with the question – or, rather, the concept of counting which was required to answer it.

“I don’t,” the man inhaled sharply, “I didn’t see, my Lord. But there’s a woman with them. Said she wanted to speak with you.”

This was the statement that washed away some of his apathy, igniting in the dimness of his dark eyes flickers of intrigue. The rotten floorboards whined under the weight of his steps as he approached the other man, a hand running along the edges of his own jaw. The first thing that came to mind was the Red Woman, but the steward would have definitely mentioned if it were her. Women weren’t easily forgotten around there, much less presences as alluring and outlandish like Stannis Baratheon’s priestess. That still begged the question: what woman would go to Castle Black seeking refuge? It was common knowledge that the Watch harbored no women. This reason alone made him think it wasn’t a mere slip, but something of importance.

Jon bobbed his head in a short nod and, after a moment of ponder, started fixing the black wool and fur mantle on his shoulders, arranging Longclaw in the sheath.

“Go find Edd and tell him to check the top of the Wall,” Jon ordered. “Have the rooms prepared in advance, just in case. Don’t want to see any snow on beds or wet sheets.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

After receiving confirmation to his request, he exited his quarters and started making his way to the entrance gates. Needless to say, the courtyard was populated, filled with the hushes of bewilderment, confusion, or excitement of a bunch of men who never knew anything aside from their own company and the solitude of the cold, lonely nights. Some of them acted out because of this, at least. There were some with predatory instincts and he knew that. But those and the former alike didn’t hesitate to open up a path for Jon to walk once he’d made his arrival known by slamming the door behind him.

“Lord Commander,” stuttered a scrawny man, closest to him, as his head reluctantly bowed in some form of forced respect.

It wasn’t difficult to pick apart the woman – all donned in blue, petite looking, yet with no other cues of her physical appearance underneath the cloaking of her hood. As he made his way toward her, Jon tossed glances to the ones who’d arrived with her. If she could afford guards – assuming this is what they were – then she wasn’t a lowborn wanderer. Actually, he dismissed this idea the moment he spotted her. Highborn blood tended to be like an unshakeable badge.

He stopped, a decent distance gaped before himself and the woman.

“Lord Commander?” She chimed in first, clearly making an effort out of trying to shield her voice from the quaking of her cold bones.

Even though there had been no cues to his identity, she made the lucky assumption, albeit slightly hesitant. She wasn’t an idiot. He chose to keep to himself his suspicion of her status by replying only with a nod of basic curtsy.

“Aye,” Jon replied simply. He cut off any continuations to shoo off the men who had been paralyzed by their own curiosity. “The last man to return to his duty’s going to feast with the horses tonight. Sod off!”

Jon had never personally put in practice these threats, but he’d heard tales from Maester Aemon of this being a recurring half-gag, half-punishment running through the line of Lord Commanders. All brothers knew of these stories and neither wanted to see it materialize for all the right reasons. The last one to leave was Alliser Thorne, whom Jon had locked eyes with and maintained a perturbing gaze as the older man slowly shifted his position and turned away.

As people were shuffling past him, finally disconnected from the novelty of the situation, Jon found himself – more or less – standing alone before the woman. Her company didn’t seem to pay much mind to whatever the topic of the conversation would be. He was about to open up the conversation, to inquire about her intentions, the reasoning behind her request, to ask whether she, per chance, didn’t know about the Watch’s regulations regarding feminine presences. It wasn’t as if Jon Snow had proven himself to be particular about ancient rules and customs, but he had to at least try to draw a line at some point. However, his attempts ended before they materialized the moment he decided to take a closer look in front of him, taking note of the slightly crooked and stiff footing of his guests.

“You must be freezing,” he remarked as the thought was shaping up in his head, his voice maintaining hues of meekness through the evenness imposed by his position. “Let’s go on inside. We can discuss whatever matters concern you much better by a fire and a warm meal.”

“Thank you,” she replied, after a moment’s hesitance. This time, he took the time to analyze her voice, how it sounded like a strange blend of frailty and conviction, a tune more fitting of a woman at the dawns of her youth.

Jon whirled around, the black mantle swinging heavily on his shoulders. His steps dug deep footprints when he stepped over the blankets of snow that the other men in black hadn’t gotten around to swiping yet. It was difficult for him to miss out on the rather organized and neatly methodical way in which the woman’s companions journeyed across the courtyard. It became more and more likely that they were guards, perhaps even trained soldiers. Not even highborn children, trained at arms since they were little, were polished so well.

He tossed a glance behind to see the woman climbing the steps after him, her gloved fingers still stubbornly clinging to the fur-lined hood betraying nothing but rosy cheeks battered by the whippings of the wind. At the door into the Lord Commander’s Tower, his own fingers closed in around the handle, suddenly halted in their attempt by her hand, which grabbed a tentative hold of his arm.

“I wish to speak with you privately,” she began, her gaze hanging low, “but my companions need food and a chance to rest their feet. Do you have room for them in your hall?”

He took in her request, first processing the undertones of her words. The fact that their discussion had to be private struck him first, followed by the fact that she seemed to bear genuine care for her companions despite the likelihood of them being mere guards. The Starks had always treated those around them with humane decency, so it wasn’t as if this was a foreign gesture to Jon. But he knew that not all noble families were as warm toward those below them. He doubted the Lannisters did, for example.

“Elden,” he called out, gaze wandering toward a nearby steward. His voice didn’t need to be raised, as the steward had been observing them for a while. He shuffled over and Jon noted the fact that he seemed to tense as he climbed up the steps past the woman’s guards. Jon reached out a hand, prompting it on the man’s upper arm. “Take these lads to the dining hall and treat them to some ale and stew. Toss more logs into the fire.”

He noted a brief flicker of hesitance in Elden’s face, which Jon tried to dismiss through the duality of firmness and reassurance in his own eyes. Their ratios were pretty scarce, everyone knew that, but the Night’s Watch didn’t need to be as cold as the eternal winter they lived in. They’d leave the following day and if not, they’d definitely have to work for their mead and bring in more supplies. Plus, they did say they were willing to offer some in exchange for a night spent under their roofs. Elden tore away with a short nod and Jon turned to the door again as soon as the men took off – all but one, whom Jon noted was observing him intently.

“Grey Worm,” the woman spoke, addressing the man whose features were cloaked in unreadable marble. “I am sure the Lord Commander is perfectly capable of keeping me safe while you go and eat.” _Grey Worm._ Was it a nickname? A strange one at it too.

The man did not move.

He heard her sigh before speaking again, “Go and rest, it is an order.” Only then did he finally leave, stiffly following after the party that had departed earlier.

Once he was left alone with the stranger woman, this was when he pushed the door open, allowing her the curtsy of slipping past him first. A few steps walked in silence led to the door of his study, through which they entered. They were welcomed by the chamber which was barely lit by the rays of light managing to sneak through the drapes of ice on the windows. He made his way in numbly and slowly, slipping the black gloves off his hands finger by finger.

His head hung in thought, mentally preparing himself for the scenario of having to turn the visitors away. Alternatively, he’d have to find a way to explain it all to the handful of men that likely wanted his head on a platter. None of it sounded like a good outcome, but he’d have to pull through regardless.

Jon wasn’t the only one having to strategize and pick his words, apparently. The only source of noise in the room was the barrage of idle chatter coming from the men shuffling through the yard outside. Otherwise, complete silence. He pondered shrugging off the cloak, but a chilly streak running through his veins made him reconsider. Finally, he sunk into his seat behind a desk piled with letters, papers, and a half molten, unlit candle, resting his eyes on the woman before him, her image hidden even better by the dimness of the study.

“Can I sit?” she had finally asked before gesturing to a chair.

He instantly craned out a hand, pointing it to the empty chair in front of the desk.

“Of course. Please.” Once she was seated, he leaned back into the chair, which whined out a rusty creak. “My name is Jon Snow,” he began, “Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

* * *

 

**DAENERYS II**

She sat down as elegantly as possible in her thick dress and cloak, still not completely used to the foreign fabric. She nodded politely at his introduction, not sure if she could refer to him as simply Jon; she had hardly earned that right yet. The matter of her introduction was a thin layer of ice to tread. But during her moons of travel, she had been given plenty of time to anticipate this particular moment, so she did not hesitate much before rewarding him with a name of her own. Her hands folded in her lap, which was also the target of her adverted gaze.

“People call me Dany.” Not many did anymore, but that was once all she had been called. When the name rolled off her tongue, it sent a ghastly shiver down her spine. The one person she could recall to have addressed her as such was Viserys, never in pleasant circumstances. But she was determined to tell the least amount of lies about her identity as possible, this being the closest she could get to the truth without shedding light on it. He would find out soon enough, either way. There was no point in lying and offending the only man who could grant her and her companions safety.

Daenerys wondered how long she could keep her hood up without him questioning it. She supposed that he would not for a couple of moments more. The hood provided warmth, as well as safety.

As a child, she had owned a doll with brown hair, one she had used as a tether to safety whenever she would feel scared. Whenever Viserys would succumb to yet another fit of rage, she would hold the doll tight and close her eyes, trying to block out his yells and insults which were often directed at her. He had taken away the doll when he thought she was too old for toys, but the cloak held the same power to her now. Her ability to hide her identity meant safety, it meant a chance to speak without anyone having formed an opinion of her beforehand. It could never last long, she knew that, but she just needed for it to last long enough.

She observed him for a moment, noting his features so she could try and understand what reaction might grace his face upon the reveal of the name.

“Dany,” he repeated, his husky voice giving a particular edge to it. “I was told you and your men are seeking shelter at Castle Black.”

“Yes,” she confirmed, casting her gaze down, struggling to avoid the meeting of their eyes and the recognition it might spark in his.

“And that you’re offering supplies for it.”

“I have already shared the last of my meat and wine with your men before being granted passage through your gates.”

“I would suppose so,” Jon added, his voice unreadable enough to frustrate her. “You would have probably been turned away otherwise.” That much she had known, at least.

Daenerys wanted nothing more than to burst that bubble of anxiety in her stomach, to get this over with, to get her answer already, no matter if good or bad. She was also deeply concerned over the Unsullied that had left her. For a moment, she had intended to let Jon Snow know that if anything were to happen to them, she would hold him personally responsible for it, but she had elected not to succumb to this impulse. It did not make a good first impression.

In the deaf silence of the room, all she heard was the drumming of his fingers against the desk.

“I suppose your reasoning has to do with why you wanted to speak with me,” he said, much to her relief.

“It has,” confirmed Dany. “I have come to ask for safety. The reason for it is that the Wall is the only neutral ground that I know of in Westeros.” She knew her best card was to try to appeal to his compassion, if there were any in his heart. The men of the Watch were labeled as vile and foul, criminals with no conscience.

“Safety from what?”

“I have been hunted across the Narrow Sea and most of the Seven Kingdoms. My guards are tired and I promised them that I would find us safety. You are my only hope; there is nowhere else I dare go.” She took a deep breath, only focusing on her men, knowing she had to cast away all sense of pride. Hearing him shift in his chair, Dany felt a sense of urgency, suddenly afraid he was about to make a decision without hearing the rest of it. “We have supplies that we will happily share with you,” she hastily added, likely cutting him off from intercepting. “My men can work, they are all skilled warriors, but they can also help with maintenance on the Wall or your stronghold.”

“That is certainly comforting,” Jon Snow commented, curse the flat lines of his voice. One thing she did make out: he did not seem convinced.

“All I can offer is information about the Dragon Queen rising in the East.” Her words were bold, but calculated. She could not pin it all on her men. She had to be part of this exchange for their shelter.

“You may keep that information,” he spoke lowly. “It means nothing for the Night’s Watch. I have to say the prospect of labor is a lot more attractive.”

She was surprised by his refusal of receiving the information she had offered to him freely. A part of her felt grateful that he was not interested in what he probably thought was only rumors and nothing more. Despite that, he still did not seem convinced enough, he still would not offer her the clear answer she needed.

Daenerys felt restless, deciding to get up before walking towards the only window in the room. She pushed the curtains slightly aside as she stared out to see the men in black cloaks go about their day and duties. “You are responsible for all of these men. You call them your brothers, do you not?” She could see his dark frame from the corners of her eyes.

“It’s what we call each other.”

“If they were lost in the cold without any safe haven, would you not do whatever it takes to save them? If they were in danger because of something you did, a mistake you made, how far would you go to redeem yourself, to save them?” The questions were asked in a low voice despite the boldness that had been laced through them. She lowered her gaze slightly, drowning in a moment of regret and guilt, before slowly turning around to look at him, properly, for the first time, the dread of the lavenders blooming in her eyes gone. It was then when she could truly glimpse at how young this Jon Snow was, something that could have easily been forgotten from the control in his voice. But she did not let this distract her from the path of her speech. “I would do anything for those who put their faith in me and for those I am responsible for. I owe them safety, but I cannot personally provide it, not right now. I understand what I am asking is against your rules, I know the Night’s Watch allows no women, but I am asking you to make an exception just for a fortnight or a moon’s time. I can go somewhere else to sleep, I will even sleep up on the top of the Wall if need be.”

The desperation could be detected in her voice, but she did not let it rule her tone. All she was asking for was kindness, something she would have granted when she had the opportunity, something which only those with power could afford to grant these days. She knew that soon the moment would come where the hood had to be lowered. The moment where she had to be judged for whatever rumors or stories he had heard of the Mother of Dragons, but at this exact moment she was just Dany who only wanted to protect her friends and start working on saving everyone else from Euron Greyjoy.

Anticipation for an answer boomed in her rib cage, uncertain if she was grateful the Lord Commander had been silent enough to carefully listen to her plea or to feel cursed because of it.

Dany observed as he prompted his knuckles against the desk, slowly ascending from his seat. He side-stepped by the table, freezing there on the spot and eying her calmly.

“They’re my brothers, aye. We all look after each other here, but as their Lord Commander, I have to ensure they’re well-fed, well-rested, well-trained… I have to keep them safe so they can keep the millions of people south safe in return. But it’s because, years ago, I took a vow and pledged my life in front of the Old Gods. There are some men I can’t stand and probably even more can’t stand me either.”

His words felt unfair, he talked about his men as if most of them despised him, but she could not see how that was possible. They were his army, they were the strength he had to send. If they were truly displeased, they could take the power from him.

He took a small step forward, then another, and another, raising his arms to slip off the cloak off his shoulders as he approached her slowly, igniting in her the self-awareness of her raised gaze, which she hastily dipped, foolishly hoping to delay that accursed moment for as long as she could.

He rested the cloth on the backrest of the chair as he came to a halt in front of her, enough to allow him to lower his voice even more while still speaking clearly.

“Your men, they don’t seem like they just heed your word. They care for you. Sounds like you care for them too, but you’re not letting me actually help you.”

Something about that statement froze her heart, a sudden wave of nervousness coiling around her bones. She wanted to say something, but anything that she would say would be retaliation against a piece of truth.

He continued, “Castle Black has sheltered women before. That’s not the problem. But to allow this change, I need something more to go by, to know if it’s worth bending the rules for. Why would someone hunt a nameless lowborn woman? Why is a lowborn woman donned in fine clothing and followed by loyal guards?”

And still, she was silent, her gaze cast down, her fingers clipping at the base of the hood, continuing to hope that he would not indulge in the almost certainly present desire of seeing it removed.

At last, Jon Snow said something that made her realize she truly was cornered.

“Why have you truly come here, Dany?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this conversation is pretty sensitive stuff, which is why it was cut in two. the rest of it will follow next week, though! there won't be a second surprise update, sadly. :P 
> 
> once again, thanks for the kudos, the bookmarks, the reads, and, most of all, for the comments that i absolutely adore to engage with. tootles!


	3. The Myths And People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon discovers a thing or two about Daenerys Targaryen, the woman behind the legends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, hello!
> 
> yes, there's an elephant in the room. "what's with a new update so soon?" ask suspicious voices lurking in the shadows. as i've mentioned before, i did not expect the enthusiastic feedback, which is highkey contagious as hell. this fic's gonna have a lot of chapters and i know waiting seven days for each one would drive ME insane, haha. so, long story short, i've lowered the waiting time to four days between updates (sometimes five if i get busy). and speaking of updates, there's more good news in the end notes, so dig in for those. ;)
> 
> as for this particular chapter, there's no dany pov today, sorry! this particular conversation is incredibly important (first impressions and all), hence why there's so much introspection. things will pick up in pace after the next chapter.
> 
> happy reading!

**JON II**

He had no desire to start making hollow assumptions, which was why he had not attempted to decipher her story and identity by himself. A small part of him was still gullible enough to give people the benefit of the doubt and the belief that they may be truthful. It was difficult for anyone to blame him. Northerners in particular were raised by an old code of morality and, in that regard, Jon had learned from the best: Eddard Stark. There were many who whispered that it was this honor code that had brought about his damnation, painting him out as a fool. But in reality, the differences between the North and the South were too grand. The Starks believed there was honor in an honest death and shame in a life led by deceit.

Curiosity and restraint battled it out inside him, the former gripping him intensely with each moment she would keep the hood tucked around her face, clearly with a definite purpose. Her sighing broke the pregnant silence that had made their exchange dormant.

“I told you people called me Dany but it is only partially true,” she said, her gaze traveling from the ground to meet his. It was still too dark, the hood continuing to sew a mosaic of shadows through her features. Even like this, half cloaked in obscurity, Jon could see he had rightfully assessed her youth. He elected to not say anything, simply observing her in anticipation, a cue she seemed to have picked up quickly. “Once that was all that I was called, but I was just a foreign orphan in Essos then. I was nothing special to the people there. They did not care about my family name or the power my father once possessed, none of that mattered to them.”

His curiosity was besting him.

“Your family name,” Jon repeated, a flurry of possibilities unleashing in his head. “Let us cease with such vagueness, my Lady. Candidness is all I ask of you for now.”

“Yes,” she quickly responded. “Let us.” Her gloved, dainty fingers traveled to pull down the blue hood with the fur lining, a certain lack of hesitance etched through her motions. Her silver-gold hair was bound in a simple braid that fell across her shoulder as the hood was removed and her violet eyes were staring at him intently. “My name is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Some call me the Breaker of Chains, some Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, some Queen of Meereen, some the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, some the Unburnt, and some the Mother of Dragons. Sometimes they call me all of it. I have many names and titles, Jon Snow. I have given you the only name still sacred to me, the only name none of the rumors and stories mention.”

Jon remembered Maester Luwin’s lessons when he was a child. Because of how close in age they had been, he had often learned at the same time as Robb. Things about the Great Houses, the history of Westeros, the myths of the North, the world across the Narrow Sea.

Of course, he’d learned about House Targaryen – the “greatest dynasty of Westeros” as many had called them. But his knowledge pertaining to Daenerys Stormborn was much more limited. Everyone heard of the rumors about her three dragons and her likelihood to return to reclaim the throne Robert Baratheon had “stolen” from the Mad King. But if there was anything beyond that, which her myriad of titles _did_ suggest, then the Night’s Watch was the place where those rumors had stopped traveling. Queen of Meereen, Breaker of Chains, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. All so foreign and undoubtedly with stories of their own.

The only stories Jon knew were the stories told by Maester Aemon. He thought of the old maester and felt a bitter pang in the pit of his stomach. Had Daenerys Targaryen arrived a few months earlier, he would have been able to meet the only person left who shared his blood. Now, he rested on board of the Cinnamon Wind, and Jon had trouble shaking off the feelings of guilt creeping up his spine.

His reaction failed to arrive, its wording trapped somewhere between the slight daze of seeing the rumors of her grand beauty turned to reality and the ghost of the less than pleasant history backing her family up.

“Were we not meant to cease with such _vagueness_ , Lord Commander?” said Daenerys. “I would surely deem your silence as sufficiently vague.”

“You must forgive me,” he sighed. “Runaway women are one matter. Runaway Targaryen queens are another.”

“You are not certain what your feelings on the matter are.”

_I am not,_ he thought. Jon Snow had plenty of reasons to feed into grudges and suspicions. But they did not belong to this moment here. He was only the Lord Commander.

“No,” he admitted. “But perhaps you could enlighten me. What interest does Daenerys Targeryen hold for the Night’s Watch?”

“My dragons have been stolen,” she said, bitterly. Jon’s heart leaped in his chest. Gods be good, the dragons truly _did_ exist? “My kingdom has been taken and my people slaughtered.”

“What kingdom would that be?”

“Meereen. Yunkai. Astapor. All that I have built by the sweat of my palms.”

“And journeying across a whole continent ought to somehow help you?”

For a brief moment, Jon detected some sort of frustration in her features. Perhaps he was asking too many questions for her liking.

“There is nowhere in the entire world where I am safe,” she said, flatly. “I cannot save anyone when they are too worried about my safety, there is no peace to think and plan when on the run.” There was a pause, during which Jon allowed himself a moment to think. But the moment ended soon enough, banished by the sound of her voice. “Euron Greyjoy has gained mental control over my dragons.”

Jon froze, bewilderment clear in his tone.

“Euron Greyjoy?”

“He possesses some magical horn which gives him the power to bind their will. I fear he will completely be able to control them soon.” Jon was still too taken aback by having this knowledge dumped on him all so suddenly, without having requested them to begin with. “What do you think a man crazier than my own father would do with such a power? How long before the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms stands aflame with no hope among the people? That is why I am here, Jon Snow. My children have been taken from me, they have been bound in mind and soul. My people are suffering. I am here to find a way to put an end to all of it, no matter the cost I must pay, but I need peace and safety to do so.” It was blatantly obvious that exasperation had pushed Daenerys into playing her game to the best of her ability. But it was not despair at the root of her display. There was only _fire_. “So, tell me, do you think certain death and destruction brought to you soon by a mad man with magical control over three full-grown dragons is a good enough reason for you to harbor a woman?”

Dragons, magical horns, a kraken to allegedly soon swallow them whole… Even for Jon Snow, it was all particularly overwhelming.

How much more certain mass destruction could the Seven Kingdoms handle? It was his first initial thought and it veiled his features in a cloak of grimness. After a brief moment of silence, he turned heel, walked back behind the desk, and collapsed into the chair with a soundly thud. He prompted his elbow against the surface and pinched at the bridge of his nose. If he thought everything over too much, he would only gain a massive headache, which was why he decided to shed off all attempts at piecing together a strategy in his head beforehand.

“A good enough reason?” he finally responded, leaning against the backrest and gazing toward Daenerys with a gaze molded on the unreadable, icy Stark features. “Strange as it may be, by the rules of the Watch, it technically isn’t.” Just how lying with a woman was equally forbidden and theoretically unbreakable. “In reality, it does not sound like something I can turn my back on. We are the sword in the darkness, the shield that guards the realms of men. The threat may not come from Beyond the Wall, but it is a threat nonetheless.” If she sought peace and quiet to form her plans, however, the Night’s Watch wasn’t the place to be at. While she’d be preparing for her own war, the Long Night could befall them at any given moment and the Wall was the first place it would strike.

He observed Daenerys as she followed toward the desk, gracefully reclaiming her own seat. Ever since she had removed the shielding of her hood, she had not lowered her gaze once, Jon noted. Even then, her eyes of lilac stared at him intently, with unwavering boldness and conviction.

“You believe me?” she questioned.

“I can believe a great number of things,” he said, making no attempts at containing the weariness of his voice. He would be no different from all the stubborn Southern lords that refused to see the threat of the Others if he elected to dismiss her sayings simply because of how unlikely they seemed.

“What is your answer then?”

His fingers drummed briefly against the armrest and he skewed his head as he stared her down inquisitively.

“I do have to make sure that you’re well-informed on what you’re getting into. Some of the men here won’t be intimidated by the presence of your guards. And if they attack a brother of the Night’s Watch, I will have no choice but to send them away. I hope you understand that.”

“I understand,” she said and Jon could detect tired resignation in her voice. “I promise my guards will do nothing more than protecting me. They will not start up any trouble with your men and if they have to stop someone, they will not harm them but simply deter them away from me.”

Jon nodded slowly.

“That would be most appreciated.”

“Fret not,” Daenerys shifted in her chair, leaning into it, “this is not the first time I have been surrounded by men. I have managed well enough until now to stay out of, shall we say, _undesired situations_.” This was the biggest concern she should have had on her mind. Jon was grateful that she was fully aware of it, sparing him the tedious task of having to spell the risks out.

It struck him now that, in his intention to possibly ensure her wellbeing, he might have come across as somewhat… say, _incompetent_. What would anyone think if the Lord Commander essentially said he couldn’t keep his men under control well enough to avoid any unpleasant occurrences? That wasn’t really the case, Jon knew that. As long as he was around, he felt confident enough that he could keep everything under control without having it spiral negatively. But when he wasn’t present, there was nothing he could do. It would probably take one beheading after another to keep some of the men in check, but even this fear, it would only last for a while. It wouldn’t take long before it developed into anger and a full-blown warfare would blast from within the heart of the Night’s Watch. During a time so severely delicate, it was the last thing they needed.

He was still struggling to appease the group of brothers who had cast their votes for Alliser Thorne during the election. Some, Jon had won over, but none of them were the people he knew cunning and with enough hatred for him to motivate them beyond doubt. Still, he felt no need to explain himself. Some may have seen his stance as a weakness, but there were many things he had to discard in order to maintain an already-frail peace. She offered her own reassurances that no violence would come from her men’s part and that was all that mattered.

He was already starting to think of the proper way to explain their presence at the Wall to the rest of the Watch and of a way to enforce their prohibitions. If push came to shove, he’d have to reason with Thorne. The man was narrow-sighted, bitter, and hateful, but he didn’t strike Jon as the type to encourage needless violence. There were better chances the men that followed Thorne would listen to him instead. For now, at least.

Jon gave a short nod, a spark of dim gratitude flashing in his eyes as they fell down to the desk. He briefly wondered what kind of circumstances had placed her in the company of men who could be comparable to the infamous rapists, thieves, and murderers that composed most of the Night’s Watch. She’d spent a good portion of her life in Essos, a place Jon had scarcely heard stories about. Those stories, though, reflected that it was a land with a certain rawness to it and with very few rules to dictate social behavior.

There were still so many questions and so many unclear things, but he figured it would be impossible to find answers in that moment and in that place.

“You have my permission for a stay of a moon’s worth for now,” he said, at last. “Your men can help with physical labor.” It was a risky call to make, especially given his sensitive predicament. But it would be an even greater risk to possibly send away the one person who could the key to their survival in the great wars to come. Within the next month, there would be plenty of time to test just how genuine Daenerys Targaryen had been in her claims.

A small twitch tugged at the corners of her lips. Jon would not blame her if she were tempted to give into the feeling of relief.

“Only my men?” she asked, surprise clear in her features.

“I figure you already have a lot on your mind, so you needn’t partake in any chores. It would probably be for the best. Us highborn are not shaped for kitchen duties. And I mean no disrespect, but I would rather not see our numbers grow even thinner because of meal fatalities.”

His words had rolled off his tongue as a second thought, a casualty of his mental exhaustion, hence his surprise when the comment sparked laughter in her reaction. The sound of it was bright and clear, quite a contrast to how she had been presenting herself before, though he presumed he could attribute it to the positive news she had received. Life at the Wall was so incredibly morose that no one found anything funny anymore, not unless drunk. Crystal-clear laughs and genuine smiles were very rare, with all the people rounding up Castle Black being mostly as icy and lifeless as the giant structure visible from outside of his window.

“We all have our strengths,” she said, her voice light. “Cooking is indeed not the usual strength of a highborn and I am definitely not the exception.” She shook her head lightly, but still with a smile gracing her lips.

Ultimately, he responded with a faint rise of his lips, one that came without a second thought and which bubbled naturally to his face. Across it, a veil had been lifted, and he was temporarily left with shoulders without the usual boulders weighing on top of them.

“Good,” Jon replied. “It’s best to not let these tasks distract you from your goal.”

“Thank you, Jon,” said Daenerys, knocking him off-balance with how seamlessly and nonchalantly his name fell from her lips. Likely realizing the effects, she continued, “I hope it is alright I call you that. After all, I gave you permission to use my nickname. I think it is only fair I address you with your real name when in private.” With this clarification, it became obvious she was only seeking out an even ground, equality. Truthfully, he had not intended to continue using the name she had presented him with in the beginning, but there was something liberating in this alternative that made it difficult to resist.

The only people who still referred to him merely as Jon were his closest friends, though he could count them on the fingers of one hand. He had only been the Bastard of Winterfell once. Now he was Lord Commander, Lord Snow, King Crow, a traitor, a turncloak, an oathbreaker. It made him wonder how he could have been so shallow as to complain that he had to sit at the back of the dining hall in Winterfell. Oh, he would give so much just to be able to return there, but he didn’t want to dwell on hypothetical scenarios. That was the surest way for any black brother, isolated from everything they love, to slowly lose their marbles.

“Permission granted,” he spoke after a moment, drawing his lips in a tight line, sheepishly. “The title draws on for far too long, anyway. I have no idea how people can stand speaking it without falling into deep slumber midway through.”

“It is quite the title, indeed, but long titles usually command respect. They sound more important, the longer they are.” Was that why she carried so many with her? He caught her eye, noticing there was something intent in her stare. “You were a part of House Stark before you joined the brotherhood, correct?” Jon _had_ wondered whether his name had reached her as well.

Swallowing down on a bitter boulder, the hand he rested on the table started to bawl into a loose fist.

“I was never part of House Stark,” he retorted, a hollow look in his eyes dictating that he’d accepted the fact so strongly it stopped affecting him altogether. “My father was. There’s only some Stark blood running through my veins.”

“Maybe not, but they were still your family,” spoke Daenerys, the soft conviction in her voice pulling his gaze to meet her eyes inquisitively. “You do not have to share their house to be family. A family is not just blood or the ones you share a name with, it is those you love and care for.”

“Aye,” he spoke, eager to slip away from the binds of this particular topic. “I would not dare to call them anything but my family.”

After a moment’s silence, Daenerys uttered, “A friend told me your father was an honorable man.”

“He was,” Jon said, his gaze aimlessly scouting the desk as he fiddled with his fingers. There was no one Jon admired more than Ned Stark, even from beyond the grave.

“He told me Lord Stark was against the brutal murders of my sister-in-law and her children. The deaths of your family are equally as unjust.”

There was a battle both inside of his head and outside, bursting through his irises. He didn’t know whether it was confusion or a feeling of ease winning the strife. On one hand, he found the sudden change in topics somewhat unsettling. It struck too close to his home, and to his heart, and his feelings of helplessness. Fury and sorrow toward the tragedy befallen on his family had been known only to Jon and the stars, whenever he’d lie awake with thorns prickling at his chest. On the other hand, sympathy was something that had become foreign to him. Those that had sent their condolences in the past had only managed to get a rush of anger out of him, but he supposed he’d moved on beyond that. It didn’t sound as if she was speaking for the sake of formality, but rather out of genuineness. Which, truth be told, was even more difficult for him to deal with. Too few people still cared about others and their feelings.

“Thank you,” he breathed out, not unkindly. “He was a man who sought justice. Always. But he sought justness and honor in a place that knows neither. So did my brother.” Surprisingly, there was only a subtle hint of frustration in his voice. It was more of a statement than anything, especially since he wasn’t aware of how much she knew of King’s Landing. Jon didn’t know that much either, in all frankness. But if Maester Aemon’s stories and Janos Slynt had been anything to go by, it was as much of a snake nest as he’d heard it was. He had to let go, to the best of his ability, of the grudges against the Lannisters for the sake of his own sanity. It would’ve driven him to a corner to map out revenge plans he knew he could never carry out.

Instinctively, he felt the need to respond with a kind word or two regarding her family, though the fact that they had been murdered before she was even born wouldn’t help not make it look like an obvious formality meant to pull attention off his own family. Luckily, there _was_ something he could say with genuineness.

His eyes rose and met hers, briefly wondering whether his words would have any effect.

“There’s someone… It would have brought him great joy to finally meet you. Our previous maester, Aemon of House Targaryen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep, this conversation is not over yet, welp. it got much longer than i expected, so i had to cut the resulting chapter in two. the good news here: i won't let y'all wait days just for yet another conversation exhibit, so the next update will be TOMORROW.
> 
> thanks a bunch, once again, to everyone who left kudos, bookmarks, and commented (it warms up my lil' heart, truly) and, most of all, everyone reading and following this story. see ya tomorrow!


	4. Last Of Her Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys learns about Aemon and finds out what kind of leader Jon Snow is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, here's the promised update and, at last, the final part of this lengthy conversation! 
> 
> one small thing, shoutout to the song "in a week" by hozier which served as inspiration for the series name and gives me major jonerys vibes. maybe i'll drop some more song recs in the future to make other people suffer as well.
> 
> anyway, i don't have much to say in here, so enjoy!

 

**DAENERYS III**

Dany’s eyes lit up with at the prospect of another Targaryen.

“Forgive me,” Jon Snow added, “I’m not well-versed in your familial ties, so I do not know of how much blood you shared. Maester Aemon rests now.” All so soon, her hopes thwarted once again with those three words. “It won’t ever happen now, but for all’s worth, I thought you’d like to know that there was still some family left who’s been thinking about you all this time.”

“I have heard the name before. I believe he was my great-grandfather’s brother,” she said, quietly. “I thought I was the only one left after my brother’s death. Just a lone dragon in the world. You wolves are not the only ones who can be lonesome, you know.” The words were uttered with a sad smile.

There was no point in mourning what she never had. She had gotten used to the fact that there was no other with her blood, she had accepted that special kind of loneliness that came with the knowledge that never would she find someone with white hair or purple eyes to match hers.

Despite never having any family who actually cared about her, it warmed her heart to know someone had been thinking about her when she had been across the sea. One particular question weighed heavy on her, not knowing if she truly wanted to hear the answer.

“Was he a good man?” Dany finally dared to ask.

She had planned to move on from the subject, never one to be too comfortable in discussing the family that she never got to meet, but curiosity got the better of her. All the men in her family seemed to be cursed with fatal flaws. Her brother, Viserys, had been as insane as her father had been according to her advisers from Westeros.

Even Rhaegar had taken a woman from a noble house without permission. Despite all his bravery and kind nature that Ser Selmy had spoken of, that was something she could never make peace with. Her eyes fluttered slightly as her gaze was drawn to Jon again after they had drifted elsewhere along with her thoughts. Rhaegar had taken his aunt, she knew that much.

Viserys used to speak of the Stark woman with such a poisonous tone that Daenerys had pictured Lyanna as more of a monster than a woman when she was a child, but she understood things differently now. Had she not been taken by a man against her will herself? The woman was hardly to blame for her family’s tragic fate; her brother had been the one to start the chain of events that led to the Targaryens’ doom.

She had often wondered if all the men bearing the Targaryen name had such serious flaws, if they all had the same kind of arrogant boldness. She silently wondered if it was in her too. Some would probably readily agree that it was in there somewhere, just waiting to explode and destroy everything around her.

“Aye, he was one of the best men I knew,” Jon Snow replied, his voice soft and full of melancholy. “I would not be standing here if it weren’t for Maester Aemon and my friend, Sam. I’m not certain if I should be grateful for that or not.” His lips twitched upward, but only briefly, and he crossed his gaze with hers again as he rolled his shoulders. “He was wise and kind, yet he always knew how to tactfully put in place the occasional twat the Watch fosters. Even though he was blind, he could see some things better than most with two healthy eyes could.”

It felt freeing to know the man had been kind. It gave her hope the Targaryen madness could be forgiving and spare her as well.

“Thank you,” she breathed out. The words did not seem like enough, but it was all she had to offer him, it was all she could give. “I find an odd comfort in that knowledge.”

“You are most welcome,” he replied meekly, not feeling like a formality.

She wondered what the old man had looked like; whether he had eyes like hers or not, her hair or her temper. Maybe his eyes had been a darker shade of purple. The kind words Jon used to describe her deceased family member unleashed a strange melancholy within her. She had accepted being the last Targaryen a long time ago. Her heart understood what that meant, but knowing she had been so close to meeting another living Targaryen was hard for her to fully accept.

“I would like to see his grave soon,” she said suddenly.

Her eyes were soft as she found his gaze once more. His dark eyes were full of ghosts, a look she could easily recognize because she often saw it in her own eyes when she looked at her reflection.

Before Jon could reply, she leaned forward slightly in her seat, fighting the urge to grab his hand to get his full attention. The small movement seemed to be enough and she sent him a wistful smile. “Promise me that you will take me there before my stay here ends.” Maybe it was a naive and childish hope, but she wanted the man who had seen nothing but a good man in Aemon to show her where he had been put to rest for eternity.

With a sigh, Jon spoke, “We only have a commemorative gravestone for him, I’m afraid. He is buried on board of the Cinnamon Wind, the ship he was on while journeying to Oldtown.”

“Oh.” Dany felt a pang of disappointment at the news.

Jon pondered momentarily for a solution, something that was vivid through the fidgeting of his hands. After a few seconds, he slipped out of his thoughts.

“But if it means anything, you can take his journals, writings, and belongings. They would only get burned or lost otherwise. There is no better place for his thoughts and memories than with the family he wanted to meet.”

“He had journals? I would love to read them.” Dany would get the opportunity to glance into his thoughts for a while. Maybe it would end with her feeling like she knew Aemon Targaryen despite never getting the chance to meet him.

“Many of them were a maester’s work,” Jon said. “But I wager there is some insight into his life as well in there.”

She truly did want to know more about the old man who had spent most of his life away from his family, but who had been there in the same realm as them all his life. He had been so close to all of it, he had been at the Wall when Robert Baratheon had murdered her brother and unleashed the Lannisters on her poor sister-in-law and her children.

“It must have been hard for him to stay here when the traito-” She stopped herself before continuing, having to remember who she was talking to. After all, she did not wish to speak ill of the dead in front of their children. “We lost our entire family in such a short amount of time. It must have been unbearable for him to stay here without being able to do anything. When the Usurper took the throne, he must have suffered beyond belief.”

She was mostly talking to herself; her violet hues were hazy and betrayed that her mind was many leagues away.

Jon sighed, “I would not know. I was but a babe.”

“Of course.” Dany offered an understanding smile. “Pay no mind. I was thinking aloud.”

“No matter. I am certain Maester Aemon appreciates your thoughts are with him, wherever he is.”

A sudden chill brought Daenerys back to the study from the distant realms of her melancholy and she quickly moved on from the delicate subject, knowing Jon might have gotten affected by her words too. She shuddered and reached out to pick up her cloak and wrap it around herself as a blanket.

“How do you bear the constant cold?” Dany asked, curiously. “The North is wildly beautiful, but the weather is ruthless here. There is always a chill in the air and the wind constantly blows without mercy. Last night I honestly thought that I might wake up a block of ice.” It was a half-hearted attempt at a joke to lighten her own mood.

“I’m, uh… I’m a Northener,” he uttered shortly, pressing his lips in a tight line. “It’s cold in the North and it’s in our blood to withstand it. I’m certain that at the opposite side of the land, I would turn redder than a blushing bride before giving my last breath on the sand dunes of Dorne.”

She chuckled quietly.

“What an awful fate to befall a Northerner, but it does make me feel better for freezing up here in the North.”

“It looks like you find comfort in the strangest of things.”

“I am merely hopeful that I do not actually turn to ice when I am here. It would be quite the ironic death for the Unburnt.”

“As would melting be for a Northerner.”

“Do you not dream of the sun and warmth?” The question was sincere, asked despite having promised herself to try and quell her unwavering curiosity. But she could not help her desire to get to know the young man sitting on the other side of the desk. She was going to stay in the castle where he ruled, so she told herself it was only natural to be curious of who exactly was holding her safety, maybe even her life, in his hands.

He stood up slowly.

“I would rather not dream of the things I cannot have,” he said flatly, circling around the desk and drawing near the frosty window.

“That sounds like quite the hopeless approach. Dreams _are_ for the things we cannot have.”

“Perhaps.” Dany studied him curiously, noting the deep gloom veiling his features. He looked not much older than her, yet he was hardened way beyond his age. “The rest of my life, however long it will be, is sworn to this castle. It’s always dark and cold here and with winter coming, it will only grow more.”

“I suppose there is an undeniable truth in that.” A moment of silence. “May I ask something personal?” She noticed how his eyes glided toward her, filled with hesitance. Yet he offered her a nod nonetheless.

For some reason, Daenerys felt herself wanting to ask the Lord Commander a million questions, not sure where this sudden want came from. Though she had felt it before, it had always been with good cause and reason. The Lord Commander was not someone she needed to know everything about.

Either he let her stay or he did not, there was nothing she could do to change that.

He faced the pressure of his men; she had heard that food was in short supply as was proper warmth. The deal was struck and knowing things about him like what he thought of it always being cold, how much did he miss his family, who had treated him differently because of his nature of birth, what kind of leader did he wish to become, what could make a hardened brother of the Night’s Watch like him laugh as she had, none of these things mattered to their deal.

And yet she longed to know.

“How did you end up in the Watch?” Based on all that Dany had seen so far, she had no doubts he seemed like a good man. But this only made his presence among nefarious thieves and murderers all the more confusing.

“Out of my stupid volition,” he replied, smiling.

“Why stupid? From what I have gathered, all too few men _choose_ to take the black nowadays.”

“For a good reason, I would say. It is not particularly pleasant and it is even less honorable.”

Daenerys stopped to think for a moment.

“At the very least, you have accomplished your goals.”

“My goals?”

His own confusion confused her in turn.

“You are Lord Commander, are you not?”

“I never wished to be Lord Commander. I have always wanted to be a ranger.”

Once again, his words were unexpected and surprising.

“You did not want to be Lord Commander? I thought it was some sort of election. How do you get chosen without agreeing to it?” There were many things Daenerys did not understand about Westeros and this was certainly one of those things that she could not wrap her head around. She understood the concept of an election, a concept she had thought about often, but its particularities proved to be lost on her.

“I was nominated,” he uttered after a moment, eyes aimlessly scouting the frozen glass of the windows. “A lot happened before the elections. I was certain the rest of the men would never want to speak to me again, let alone they would want me to lead them.”

“If you were chosen, especially without nominating yourself, surely most of these men have an unwavering faith in you? It takes a lot to choose someone who does not wish for it.”

Dany did not know the whole story, she did not know who else would have been in the running for Lord Commander, she did not know who had pointed to Jon as the right man for the title, but she understood it must have been someone who had placed their entire faith and hope in the man before her. It was a heavy duty to carry, perhaps even heavier than the one she had carried.

“My friend Sam does,” he replied after a moment, a brief smile carving its way into his features. “He’s always believed in me. He was the one to propose me for the position. A few nights before the election, there was a giant battle, right here. The Wildlings attacked us. We had no one to lead us, to stand ahead of the defense lines.” With a swift movement, he wheeled his head towards the window by the desk, staring at the horizon opposite of which stood, tall and mighty, the Wall. “I don’t know what got into me, but I knew we were never going to win with what he had. So, I took the command. Seems like some of the brothers saw that as worthy of being rewarded with a title.”

Daenerys listened intently to him talk about how he became Lord Commander.

The tale was different from what she imagined but it was one she knew all too well. He had risen up when everyone around him had failed to do so, he had flowered in adversity and taken the command among chaos and death. She liked to believe she had done the same. She had been failed by her bloodline, her own brother failing to become what a Targaryen conqueror should be.

With her husband dead, the Dothraki would have fallen into the hands of somebody who would have simply gone back to raping women and taking slaves. She had fought against a system ancient as time itself. She had become a leader because she felt she could do better, tear the system down and replace it with justice. There was no shame in that.

“You took command because you felt that you could do better,” Daenerys said, her voice full of unwavering conviction. “We are more alike than you may realize, Jon Snow.”

In the dim dances of pale sunlight and candles, she caught his eyes in what could only be described as a silent understanding.

“We could be,” he replied, his voice low.

“I did not want to become a leader either, not at first,” she found herself suddenly saying, her eyes finding the fiddling of her hands, settled in her lap. “But I believed that I could make the world a better place and I still believe that. To me, that is the only valid reason anyone can have to become a leader.”

Her eyes fell on him, full of curiosity and slight wonder despite the painful memory ripping up old wounds. The sadness was visible in her eyes, but it was always there, sometimes tucked away in the back of her mind. Other times it was all she could think of. She had learned to control it, she had forced herself to. _That life disappeared with the fire when you were reborn. All that pain belongs in a past life._

“Do you believe that too?” Daenerys asked quietly. “Will you try and change things for the better?”

If he did not have that desire, what was the point in being Lord Commander? Anyone could take a title and do exactly what those before them had done, it did not take a leader to do that.

 “All we can do is try, is it not?” Jon replied, his expression difficult to decipher in the wake of the reveal of her own tale.

Dany realized their conversation had turned deep and meaningful fast without her meaning to stir it in that direction, but she found herself quite fond of the words shared between them. They actually meant something, they were not just boring formalities or shallow, comfortable words shared by strangers. She learned something about Jon every time he opened his mouth, and in turn, he saw her too for what she truly was.

Jon returned to the desk to pick up the black leather gloves.

“It’s getting late,” he observed as he slid them on his fingers. “Your men will probably knock down my door if we don’t return as quickly as possible.” Either that or his own men would do it, demanding explanations. On his way to the door, he halted next to Daenerys, stretching out an inviting hand. “Shall we go join them?”

She hesitated for a small moment at the thought of going back outside even for just a moment. Inside his study there was peace and it was warm, but Daenerys knew all peaceful moments had an end. Duty was always there lurking in the shadows.

She put her dainty hand in his and she stood up. Her joints felt less stiff than they had when she had arrived at Castle Black. The warmth had loosened and softened her muscles, allowing her to move more gracefully and less restrained under the thick wool of her dress.

“Thank you,” she spoke softly, her eyes meeting his in a small moment of gratitude.

The words held more meaning than just appreciation for helping her up on her feet. She wanted to thank him for everything, mostly for giving her a moment of much-needed serenity, but she could not find the right words, so she settled for a simple word of appreciation.

She let go of his hand and buttoned the top of her cloak, readying herself for the harsh wind raging outside. “Time to face the music then.”

The air outside felt crisp and ruthless as it wrapped around her thawed skin. Instinctively, she tucked the blue cloak tighter around her chest, quickly following after the Lord Commander as he started walking. She was eager to get some movement and warmth in her bones.

Dany was in no doubt her time at the Wall would be interesting. If some of the men truly did not wish her there merely because she was a woman, how would they react when they realized who exactly they were harboring? Despite Daenerys Targaryen being more than a myth than anything in Westeros, there were still those who looked upon her and only saw her father or brother.

All thoughts of anonymity left her when they entered the hall.

The tension was so thick she wagered she could cut it with a knife. It was clear neither group of men trusted each other nor wanted to make an attempt at forging a bond. The Unsullied had found their place in the far corner of the hall, not a single man of the Night’s Watch sitting by the table.

She was so focused on her men that she nearly missed the murmurs which spread in the hall like wildfire.

_Targaryen. Daughter of the Mad King. Mother of Dragons._

Dany blinked a few times as she took in all the reactions, realizing she had completely forgotten about the hood upon entering the hall.

Daenerys had not planned on keeping her identity a secret long anyway, but she had not been prepared for the looks of both curiosity and fascination, but also the few looks of deep disgust. It was clear some of the men had already formed their opinion of her and she could quickly guess these people wanted her gone the minute she stepped foot inside their hall.

Eventually, the looks from some of the men of the Night’s Watch slipped from her to the man beside her.

“What is she doing here?” The voice rang out clearly in the hall, filled with revulsion.

“The Night’s Watch is no place for a woman.” Another voice quickly followed suit and the muttering only grew louder.

She understood now why Jon had hesitated before granting her sanctuary. He must have known they would react like this. If he backed down to his men, she would have no place to go. Her best chance would be Dorne but that journey would be long and she was not sure if she or her men were ready to brave such a travel with limited supplies.

Her only hope was that he was a strong leader, one who believed enough in himself to go against his own followers.

She could hear the Unsullied start shuffling about and getting up from their seat.

“Daor! Sit ilagon se gaomagon daorun.” The order was clear: they were to sit down and do nothing at all.

After her men had been stilled, her gaze immediately flew to Jon. She understood her place. He was their leader and so it was him who had to speak up. Despite having preferred peace and no trouble, she was interested to see how he would react.

They had talked about leadership, now the time had come to act upon his words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope y'all ready for some spicy watch drama to go down next chapter. this update's gonna be pretty eventful. so, if you made it so far through this bulky conversation, things will happen, hallelujah!
> 
> as per usual, lots of thanks for the comments, kudos, bookmarks, and, most of all, for the reads.


	5. Sword's Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon presents the Daenerys situation to his men. Dany forms an opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya! here's the new chapter, yo!
> 
> so, let me preface this by mentioning the fact that there is a lot of set-up and foreshadowing thrown throughout the story, so analyzing certain things will definitely pay off. ;) 
> 
> this chapter was written to the tune of "thru" by vallis alps.

**JON III**

Admittedly, he felt mildly nervous.

Their first steps taken into the hall felt as if they had just walked into the heart of a drought, heat and tension vibrating through the thick air.

It was easy to pick apart her men, sat at a distant table at the back of the hall where no black brother dared to sit. Nothing hinted at the fact that they had had any unpleasant encounters or conflicts, but it was clear that everyone doubted each other’s intentions. Jon assumed the men also had enough time to anticipate this moment, his entrance which would bring about a barrage of explanations.

In honor of the guests, the fireplaces were fueled with larger logs, candles filled the tables and lamps the walls, spreading a dim glow of warm light through a chamber that was typically as morose and blue as the North. It didn’t happen often, so the confusion and expectancy likely didn’t do much to tame their impatience.

Defying Jon’s expectations, the gazes shot past him, focusing instead on the woman beside him.

When Jon’s own eyes swept to her frame, he noted the way frigid rays of light tangled in her hair, emphasizing the silver threaded in her strands. No doubt, the glow of the extra lights also glazed over her eyes, merging with the lilac hues. In other words, like a flame in the darkness, she called all of the attention in the area.

“What is she doing here?” The one voice that broke through the even muttering capped above the rest and Jon easily recognized the details of Alliser Thorne’s voice.

When his dark eyes drifted to the man, seated two tables away from the entrance, he noticed Thorne’s gaze was the only one that had shifted to him as opposed to Daenerys.

“The Night’s Watch is no place for a woman,” sounded another, though Jon struggled to put a name to it.

Eventually, most of the eyes made their way to Jon instead, forcing him to accept a premature attempt at an explanation. Surprisingly, though, he felt completely at ease with it, most likely coating himself in iron at the sight of Thorne rising from his seat. The motion cooled down some of the chatter, most people silencing themselves as they likely awaited for Thorne to be the one to claw information out of the Lord Commander’s mouth.

“Life under your guise is nothing short of exciting, _Lord Snow_ ,” he noted dully, his teeth pressing as he spoke out the name. “Shall we expect a new surprising guest every time you enter this hall?”

“I will have it so that the news will be slipped under your chamber door beforehand, Ser Alliser. Won’t be a surprise anymore.”

Despite how much Jon sought out serenity, balance, and acceptance, watching Thorne’s vision darken with fury at his own helplessness gave him a bizarre blood rush. When Thorne’s authority was reigning over Jon, the man held nothing back to make his life a misery. Ultimately, Jon wouldn’t return the coin in its entirety, but it put him at ease to know Thorne would bite on his tongue because Longclaw constantly hung over his neck.

Jon left the spot near the entrance, prompting himself at the center of the room, in front of the tables and the fixed gazes.

“You may have figured it already,” he began, clasping his hands in front of his belly, “but this is Daenerys Targaryen. Some of you may have heard nothing of her. Some of you may have heard too much. You may forget what you think know about her. She and her men will be in our care as mere guests, paying back for their stay. I expect no trouble shall arise.”

One brother shot up abruptly from his bench, ale spilling on the hand that clung to his cup. Jon recognized him as Cuger, one of the men who started in the same novice class as him.

“Lord Commander, I’m sorry, but – but we can’t have women at the Wall!”

Another one leaped in, “Scratch that, we barely got any food for ourselves, now we’ve got more mouths to feed?!”

“Oh, shut the hell up, Rudge! You ain’t feeding shit, you just sit on your lazy ass and live off what the South sends in. This place’s so damn empty it could us with some company.”

One after another, more voices rose up, blending one into another and creating an incoherent mush. Jon huffed out a silent breath through his nose, reaching out for a nearby cup of ale and slamming it insistently against the table.

When enough attention returned to him, he addressed the two protesters.

“They’re offering supplies. And they’ll aid us in hunts and gathering other provisions.”

“Forget that,” Alliser Thorne hissed out, once again silencing some of the men gathered around him. Jon observed Thorne’s eyes as they glided, this time, over to Daenerys. “It appears to me that our brave Lord Commander is quite eager to squash our sacred laws underneath his boot for the sake of some _wine_.”

“That is not what this is,” Jon bit back.

“What’s it to you?” Dolorous Edd said suddenly. “Thought you fought for the Mad King in the Rebellion. Or are your loyalties that fickle?”

Thorne churned out a crude, humorless laugh.

“You dare have _me_ questioned on my loyalties?” It didn’t take a genius to pick up the jab at Jon’s own _loyalties_. “As a Thorne sworn to House Targaryen, I did nothing more than what duty demanded of me. Now my duty rests with the Night’s Watch. I simply was not aware that the Watch has turned into a pity castle where all the trembling exiles could leech and hide their tails between their legs.”

Jon found himself overtaken by a boldness arisen from frustration.

“And yet it took Janos Slynt in all the same.”

Even at that distance, he could see Thorne’s teeth grit. Finally, he left his seat, approaching Jon with a frigid coating fixed in the depths of his irises. He only ceased his walk once stood in front of Jon, separated by an arm’s length. The initial fury had been wiped out, replaced by his typical calm bitterness.

“You remind me of Slynt so dearly, Lord Snow. In reality, you just want me to remember the swing of your sword and the roll of his head.”

“Janos Slynt was executed for disobedience,” Jon stated flatly, maintaining a poignant eye contact with Thorne. “It’s one of those ancient rules and customs you so fondly enjoy reminiscing over. Don’t forget them when it matters most. I don’t wish for any more heads to roll, Ser Alliser. We are few as it is.” He tore his gaze away and turned to the rest of the hall again, a pointed finger randomly landing on Hop-Robin, one of the men who had risen to join the protests. “You remember your vows, do you?”

Hop-Robin looked lost, like a rabbit caught in the aim of a readied arrow.

After a moment, he stuttered out, “Y-Yes.”

Jon’s hand descended, taking note of the frivolity in his stance. Instead, he returned to addressing the room again.

“I am the sword in the darkness, the shield that guards the realms of men. Our vows don’t end Beyond the Wall. There is a chance of a war erupting in the South and if that happens, the realm will be weakened. And when it weakens, you know who will have to suffer.” A pregnant pause fell on the room. “All of us.” He waited a moment, noting that no other argument arose. Granted, many were probably confused by the correlation between Daenerys’ presence and his words, so he decided to finish on a piece of closure. “I’ve granted her and her men a moon under our roof. During this time, I will lend her my aid in finding a way to put an end to this war before it even breaks out.”

“Ah, what the hell,” uttered a voice to Jon’s right which reeled in his attention. It was Grenn, leaned against a wall with his arms folded over his chest. He seemed hesitant to continue, but he pressed forth regardless. “I say let ‘em stay. The fuck’s wrong with you, people? You whine how there’re no women here and when one shows up you’re tellin’ her to sod off?” His eyes briefly shot towards Daenerys and his head dipped awkwardly in a bow. “Sorry about that, my Lady.”

“And the lot there yonder said they’ll help with more food?” Barged in another brother, having just finished stuffing his face with a rabbit leg. “Fine by me, I say.”

One by one, it all evolved into an amalgam of approvals, save for some of the men Jon already knew to bend to Alliser Thorne’s will.

Jon could feel the way his chest was deflating when he suddenly caught glimpse of Thorne turning heel and heading for the door. He stopped, though, hand on the handle and looked at Jon with an all too familiar look of defeat that always stirred holes in his stomach.

“It’s your orders, Lord Snow. Sad to say you won’t see my head roll today. I’m no rapist or savage. Not like your _friends_.” After spewing the last word, he pulled the door open, making himself unseen behind it.

Like a proper storm, he made sure that his remark hovered in the room behind him, draining some of the men who had lightened up of their momentum. Of course, he had to hit the bullseye – remind the rest that their Lord Commander had once feasted with _Wildlings_.

Still gazing at the door, Jon was cut off by Dolorous Edd, who stepped in front of him, unflinched and certain.

“I’ll check on their chambers,” he said. “Where’ll the lady be staying?”

Jon’s eyes flickered over to Daenerys, meeting her gaze probably for the first time after he’d hurled himself in a speech he barely thought over.

After a moment of ponder, he replied, “Find a suitable room in my tower.” He stepped away from Edd, tactfully treading near a corner he knew was tended by men who often boasted about all the women they’d taken by force. “I’ll have you know that all possible greetings to the Lady might need to be kept away from her chambers. Ghost happens to enjoy drifting to sleep near the hallways of the tower. That’s what I think he does, at least. He can be quite restless sometimes. Isn’t that right, Rast?”

His eyes fell on the brother, caught off guard by the mention of his name. The color in his face started draining and, despite the circumstances, Jon found it difficult to hold back the mischievous twitch at the corners of his lips.

Rast uttered something under his breath and then straightened his back.

“You lot keep the fuck away from that one,” Rast barked. “She ain’t worth it. Definitely not for me.” He was addressing his sentence colleagues, though his next words were shot at Jon instead. “And you keep your bloody wolf away from me, Snow. Next time I catch him blaring his teeth at me, I’ll chop his fuckin’ balls off.”

He did say that, but most of the words were shaky and clumsy. Jon didn’t realize at the time, but it ought to leave a mark on someone to wake up from slumber with a growling direwolf on their chest and a knife to their throat.

After Rast retreated to his table, Jon finally felt like a lid finally drew a closure on this topic. At the very least for now. Jon felt drained and he didn’t want to be the target of all the peers and gossip that undoubtedly filled the room. He didn’t want it Daenerys to be either. Ideally, he’d be able to feast in peace and retreat into oblivion for a few scarce moments.

So, with the last of authority he could muster, he slammed an ale cup once more, waiting for the head of a certain brother to wheel around.

“Kegs, didn’t you complain your lyre is gaining dust and freezing away?” The man nodded inquisitively. “Fetch it then. Unwind it and give us some music.”

He was glad to see Kegs as excited as he thought he would be. When he struck the first accords and people started officially nudging each other, hitting each other, and bursting in laughter, he decided to retreat. Swiftly climbing the steps that led to the table elevated at the front of the room, he met Daenerys’ gaze and resorted to simply giving her a brief nod of assurance and a tight-lipped smile. He then sank into the seat at the middle, feeling as if he had been drained of the very heat in his muscles in the aftermaths of a vicious battle.

**DAENERYS IV**

Daenerys felt slightly overwhelmed.

She had been used to this kind of situation with the slave masters, but it had been a long time ago. Moreover, she had been on the road for so long, she had almost forgotten what it felt like to be at the center of a ruckus again.

As Jon walked up the steps to sit by the table, her eyes followed him as she processed what had taken place just moments ago.

She had found a new sort of respect for him, one she did not bear for many. The more she learned about him, the more she was sure he was a good man. As he sent her a quick smile of reassurance, she simply stood still for a moment more.

She was forming an opinion of him.

In her experience, a good man always had his own terrible secrets and was never as good as people thought. Dany had started to lose hope in the goodness of men, especially after seeing so much misery and injustice as she had, but she suddenly found herself desperately clinging to a frail hope that Jon Snow would prove her wrong.

She returned to her men who had listened to her order and had sat still at the table. She explained their situation and how they had been allowed to stay for a moon in return for work. Luckily, the tension slowly dissolved and her guards seemed in a better mood although Grey Worm was busy staring down the Lord Commander. Dany took this as a bad sign, not knowing what was going through his head.

When her guards did not show any signs of mingling with the others, she stood up and walked over to join the man who spoken up for her in what he had thought was a crude manner, but she had appreciated it all the same.

“Thank you for standing up for me.” The words rolled smoothly off her tongue as she smiled at him.

The conversation between the men stilled for a moment before one of them suddenly spoke up and turned to his friend.

“See, I told you I heard her speak the common tongue. You owe me a pint of ale!” The men laughed and Dany seamlessly joined in. It was easy enough to talk to them, so she made a few light-hearted jokes which made them comfortable enough to let the words flow. 

After a while, a couple of the Unsullied approached and took a seat. She wagered it was probably to be closer to her more than anything, but it was a good sign nonetheless.

Her eyes soon landed on Grey Worm who had risen from the bench and seemed to walk determinedly towards Jon. Fearing the worst, she quickly excused herself and hastily moved towards the elevated table where the Lord Commander was sitting. She was not quick enough and watched with discomfort as Grey Worm stopped in front of him. Instead of her fear being realized, he simply reached out his hand and placed a goblet of wine on the table.

“You protect us. We protect you.” The words were heavy with the Valyrian accent but intelligible. That was all the member of the Unsullied said before walking away, no emotion on his face which fell in the same folds it always did.

Dany stood a couple of feet away, slightly shocked of what she had just witnessed, but strangely finding it almost moving. She turned her gaze to Jon, daring to step closer to his table.

“I think he likes you,” she said, faint amusement curling her lips. “That is the closest to a word of gratefulness you will ever hear from them, I imagine. They do not talk nor smile much.”

She turned her head when she heard some of the men laugh out loud, the noise filling the entire hall for a moment. Drunken men had no sense of limits, it seemed. Thus, she figured it would be better to stay with Jon to avoid the trouble. Plus, it did help that she still had plenty to ask him. With everyone swayed by the giddy fumes of alcohol and half-broken melodies, she seized the opportunity to place herself in an empty seat next to him.

“Who are they?” asked Jon after a moment’s silence.

“They are called the Unsullied.” She looked at Grey Worm dismissing to drink. Dany knew he wanted to be alert if any trouble should arise. None of the other Unsullied drank in excess either. “They were once slave soldiers.”

“Once?” He paused and then added, “I have heard a few things about them, I believe. None on a regime change.”

“I freed them from their master.” There was no sense of wonder in her words, only disgust for the masters who had done this to them. “They are put through horrible training. They have been forced to kill and murder innocents to prove loyalty. Many of the boys are killed in training before they truly become Unsullied. I gave them the choice to leave if they wished to or to follow me into the unknown. They chose to stay by my side. I owe them better than a life on the run. I meant to give them freedom, not just an escape.”

The words weighed heavy on her heart. She had not only failed herself when Euron Greyjoy had betrayed her and stole everything from her. No, she had betrayed everyone who had believed in her. That was the worst pain of all.

She could live with her own mistakes if they only affected her, but her entire life had grown to be bigger than her. That was the price of power, she supposed. One wrong decision and thousands of lives could be lost. In her ambition to make the world a better place, she might be the cause of its doom. She brought the dragons back to life, so she was responsible for their actions, no matter whose order they followed.

“And they chose to follow you to the world’s most frozen of places,” concluded Jon Snow, his fingers curling around the cup that Grey Worm had left behind.

“Amazingly so,” she said, sighing.

Jon turned his head and found her eyes, a particular glimmer of meekness coddling his features.

“What is this cup of wine as a sign of gratitude compared to this kind of faith?”

Dany willed a wanton smile onto her lips, torn between the appreciation of their unwavering faith and her poignant disappointments.

Her eyes landed on the door Thorne had stormed out off. She knew no more than his name, but it had been clear even to her something had passed between the two of them.

“The man who claimed you were friends with rapists and savages,” she started, turning to find Jon’s gaze again. “Who is he?”

“Ser Alliser Thorne. He’s our First Ranger. He used to serve as the master-at-arms when I joined the Watch.”

“He is obviously not your biggest supporter here nor is he mine. Should I be worried about him?”

Jon snickered, though there was no hint of amusement in the sound.

“It could have been his own mother, I’m sure. If she were to stay here by my word, he’d be just as furious. You needn’t worry about him. He says a lot, but he doesn’t act on it.”

Suddenly, she found herself grateful Jon had been given the title of Lord Commander. She had a feeling Thorne would have sent her on her way this very same day.

“It seems that he holds quite a grudge against you,” remarked Dany.

“We started on the wrong foot. He’s been rejoicing in making my life as difficult as possible since I first arrived here. He and a dear friend have been claimants of this mantle as well. Furthermore, I imagine he doesn’t particularly like his newfound lack of authority.”

“I don’t like him,” she concluded abruptly, drawing vivid lines of bewilderment in Jon’s face. “A strong man can accept being beaten in a fair fight. Only cowards cling to the bitterness of just defeat.”

He shook his head slowly.

“I can call Ser Alliser plenty of things, though a coward is not among them.”

There was nothing Dany had to say to that. Although she had definitely formed her opinion on the man already, there was definitely not enough information for a conclusion on his bravery.

The buzz of the hall became faint, lost in the jaded numbness of her cold and tired mind.

She heard the scratch of the chair and saw Jon rise from the corners of her eyes.

“It’s late,” he said. “I think you should head to your chambers for now. Your journey’s been long.”

“It has been a long journey indeed,” she agreed, pressing a palm into the rim of her cloak to keep it on her shoulders as she stood up stiffly. “Some rest will do us both some good and I have already taken up much of your day.”

“Aye. I will show you to your room.”

As they made their way out of the hall, a drunken member of the Night’s Watch stumbled across their path. He bowed awkwardly while he swayed.

“Pardon me, Lord Snow.” She observed as the man turned to her and bowed once more nearly tripping in the process. “Lady Snow.”

He was quickly swept away by some of his brothers whose carefree laughter filled the hall, but the man looked confused as to why they were laughing so hard.

Dany found it difficult to suppress her own amusement. She took no offense with the words, finding it funny instead of insulting or awkward.

“I am sure he was referring to the color of my hair, Lord Commander,” she bemused, turning a curious glance toward Jon, though it proved to be futile as nothing in his figure gave away whatever could be running through his head.

“As much as his eyes could muster through the fumes of ale, I suppose,” answered Jon, not seeming to share her amusement.

He turned sharply on his heel, pushing the door and Dany could hear the whistle of the nightly wind whip its way through the opening

“After you, Lord Snow.”

She waited for him to start walking once more before following him out into the cold.

Truthfully, she was looking forward to exploring Castle Black the next few days. Most people would find themselves uncomfortable at first when being somewhere new, but Daenerys had become so used to traveling she had lost that kind of fear of the unknown. She now found joy in exploring new places. 

At last, they arrived at the door and she knew it was her room before he even said anything, the two Unsullied guards quickly giving it away.

“It’s here,” he sighed out, faintly knocking the back of his hand against the elderly wood. “I haven’t gotten a chance to see whether the, uh, the conditions were appropriate.”

Dany dismissed his worries with a flick of her wrist and a quick headshake.

“I am sure whatever awaits me in there is fine. As long as there is a proper bed then I am more than happy.”

“Should you desire anything expressively, you’re going to have to speak with my steward, Satin, or find a way to make do by yourself. You don’t want them to think any more foully of you by appeasing directly to me, I’m sure you understand.”

A chuckle threatened to erupt from her so she bit the inside of her cheek to prevent it from slipping out.

“I understand. We have to protect your honor.”

She might have been successful in hiding the laugh but she could not hold back the teasing joke.

“Mine. Certainly.” Even as a brief curl of his lips arose, it continued to be filled with special kind of rueful melancholy. “All I can do now is wish you a good night’s sleep.”

Her smile turned more serious as it became clear this was to be goodnight and her face fell slightly at the thought. Somewhere along the lines, Dany had allowed herself to get lose in a tide of thoughts other than concerns and guilt and she had no doubts this stemmed from her conversations with the Lord Commander.

Realizing she had fallen silent for a moment – and that he was likely waiting out her departure – she cleared her throat and then offered him a curtly nod.

“Goodnight, Jon. Sleep well.”

She opened the door to her chambers and slipped inside to greet the warmth, standing by the other side of the door for a moment, waiting to hear him walk away. And then she decided to start preparing for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> five chapters in and we're finally done with the first day! lmao! 
> 
> lots of thanks for comments, kudos, bookmarks, and lots, LOTS of thanks to those following the story so far and getting invested. 
> 
> chapter six is coming in four days/on wednesday. tootles!


	6. Kissed By Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days after Daenerys' arrival, Jon has new tensions to juggle with and a big reveal to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, darlings! this chapter's a bit shorter because i was super busy this week. if anything, i would prefer to keep them around this length if i can, but i'll see.
> 
> happy reading!

**JON IV**

A lot had shaken up the status-quo.

Back then, months ago, in the humming of chants and applauses, Jon hadn’t pondered on what kind of reforms he’d want to pour into the history of the Night’s Watch.

To be frank, he hadn’t thought much about it even after it was all over. So many of his deeds were done by tapping into some kind of instinct, majorly against the flow of nearly half of the men he’d supposedly taken under his guidance.

After Stannis Baratheon had left Castle Black, journeying to the Shadow Tower and readying himself to gain the allegiance of northern houses and the various tribes, Jon had made the decision to keep their _captives_ alive. That in itself was a critiqued decision, but it all became even worse once people started suspecting what the reasoning for it may have been. Although he’d never made an official announcement, word of his intentions to even the ground between the Watch and the Wildlings didn’t fail to rise and spread out like a dark plague.

Some criticized him for an alleged breaking of the Watch’s impartiality by aiding Stannis in his mission to liberate the North.

Some were much more bothered by the Wildlings left alive, by the times he’d visit Tormund Giantsbane or the other four and returned without sending word for an execution.

And, now, some were gravely bothered by the stepping over yet another bullet on his forsaken moral codes and ancient codes.

Some of the men were simple enough to find that the presence of a beautiful woman who also happened to carry intriguing words at her belt was a blessing they would gladly rejoice in. Others weren’t as willing to overcome this, invoking the words that Alliser Thorne had spewed that night about Castle Black turning into a safe haven for quivering runaways.

But he had to coat his skin in a thick layer of stone, as unbreakable as the frozen waters beyond the Wall during the harshest of colds.

With each visit he took to Tormund’s confinement chamber, he stepped through the threshold more confidently and less burdened by his doubts and dark thoughts.

What would the men say?

It didn’t really matter what they said.

He felt that this way was the only way and that was mattered. In the past few days, he started to realize that he didn’t seek out to be a beloved Lord Commander, but a practical one, able of shielding the realm against the approaching winter. This set of thoughts was enough to fuel him for the following period.

He didn’t really get a chance to walk up to Daenerys during the couple of days following her arrival, to ask her about how she fared, how she’d adapted, or whether she managed to set the foundation for a strategy that would help her against Euron Greyjoy.

 _Help._ That night at the dining hall, he’d proclaimed he would aid her in her quest, fully aware of the chaos that the unleashed ambitions of a fanatic could stir through the country, frail enough as it was. Unfortunately, he’d found himself busier than he expected and, thus, all he had was a few glimpses of silver hair under the light of a sun dimmed by the almost eternal carpet of clouds underneath it.

But it was nearly impossible for that to become the main matter on his shoulders.

A day prior, he had decided to slash at the binds that made Tormund a hostage if only to prove that he _wasn’t_ a hostage.

With that one move, Jon had quickly reverted back to being riddled by concerns and a certain nervousness regarding the general response to his decision. It was a crucial warranty for the steps towards peace that so many of the black brothers thought of with repulsion. From that point, it felt like there was no way back.

In fact, it was bothersome enough to knock at the back of his head like an insistent drumming, one that had him crooked over his darkened desk, peering absently into the coldly lit nothingness floating in the chamber. Not a single letter or paper had been touched through the whole morning. When the door quaked in its hinges, slammed all the way to the wall, his head snapped up with a startle.

“Enif,” he uttered, brows furrowing as his eyes read into the distress on the boy’s, one of his stewards, face.

“My Lord,” he dipped his head, seemingly searching for his wording, “the… it’s the Wildling. You’ll want to see. He’s outside. Bowen Marsh, he…”

Jon didn’t let the boy finish his sentence.

Even if he had, the murmur of voices cascading through his ears shifted his focus on a commotion which blared from the other side of his window.

He rose up to his feet, shoving the chair back with a tumultuous thud, and marched outside.

From the moment he’d reached the top of the tower’s stairs, he sighted the scene, a circle split in a blend of grey and black – Wildings and Crows. At the front of each group stood Bowen Marsh and Tormund respectively, contorted by anger and spewing words that Jon couldn’t even hear over the endless buzz of his own thoughts.

“What in Seven Hells is going on here?” Jon barked, removing his boot from the last step he’d climbed down on.

Some heads turned, enough for him to capture the sheer disdain and wrath filling the eyes that had met his.

He didn’t hold back on the decisiveness of his steps and, once closed in enough, he halted in front of the Wildling man, his fist closing around the fabric on his chest like the bite of a direwolf.

“You’d do well to take a step back lest you’d enjoy returning to your binds, Tormund,” sneered Jon.

From the corners of his eyes, he noticed the way the other Wildlings behind him rotated their shoulders, nearly readying themselves in a stance of defense.

“Oh, would I?” Tormund’s head crooked, twisting his neck with a sharp snap. “It’d do good to remind us tha’ we’re yer prisoners, Lord Crow.”

Jon had a choice – whether to tap into the sensible side of the Wildlings or whether to appease to the already disturbed waters in the Watch.

“You’re not my prisoners,” Jon eventually spoke out, loosening his grip and dropping his hand as he dug a firm gaze into Tormund’s hardened eyes.

“With all due respect, Lord Commander,” Bowen Marsh’s voice bit into the back of his head, “but I was aware that they _are_ , are they not?”

Jon slowly turned around, fixing the Lord Steward evenly.

“You know well that’s not the case anymore, Bowen. What happened here?”

“We did what we were supposed to do, my Lord – defend the Night’s Watch. I saw the lot march into our kitchens, as if they were _theirs_ to own. Aren’t we supposed to raise our weapons when faced with our enemies? Haven’t we been doing this for centuries?”

“Ye’ve been raising shit, crow. Ye’ve been stuffing yer bellies and shakin’ behind your Wall,” Tormund spat up, stirring the cloud of tension that brought everyone one step closer to each other once again.

Jon shut his eyes briefly, drawing in the cool morning air.

“That’s enough, both of you.”

His words went completely over the head of another black brother present, a steward named Wick, Jon recalled.

“Shaking?! We’re giving our entire lives away to the Watch because you’re the ones constantly pillaging, burning, and murdering!”

Tormund had opened his mouth to speak again, releasing a low hiss, but Jon felt how the amassed resilience against the direness of the situation heated up in his chest.

It journeyed up his throat, imploding in yet another direction, “I said that’s enough!”

As silence fell, he caught a glimpse of a figure standing at the top of the stairs leading up to his tower.

_Daenerys._

He hadn’t briefed Daenerys on the situation with the Free Folk, he now realized, quickly tearing his eyes away and dropping them to the dirtied snow covering the ground.

It was a situation difficult enough to explain to his own men, who were aware (for the most part) of the complications and implications behind, let alone to a stranger. It seemed, though, that he might end up not having a choice. If the Wildlings were truly to stay as guests rather prisoners, tensions would undoubtedly continue to grow. The last thing they needed was for her guards to relentlessly to attack the Wildlings or vice versa.

Her white hair blew in the wind which rushed through the courtyard. She was still wearing the blue cloak she had donned when she first came to the Wall. Her back straightened slightly as more and more eyes seemed to be on her and then she started to descend down the steps.

As she stepped closer to them, Jon could feel the intensity of Tormund’s stare as if it were directed at himself.

“Ye are the one the crows here have been screeching about?” huffed Tormund. “Bloody awful it has been to only hear but not see.”

“Probably,” said Daenerys, her eyes bolding staring up into the Wildling’s. “Unless, of course, there is a woman hidden beneath all that black fur somewhere in between them but I sincerely doubt it.”

There was a roaring laugh.

“Aren’t they all women? They fuckin’ _act_ like ‘em with all the primping.”

She said nothing and Jon debated it could have been so she would not insult either side. Just as her eyes found his, he felt Tormund give him a nudge.

“She’s kissed by ice, this one,” he snickered.

Then from behind him, Jon heard Wick grumble.

“Or maybe kissed by _snow_.”

 _Kissed by snow_ , he said.

It wasn’t difficult to deduce the undertones.

It was this particular undertone that was followed by the crunch of the blade gliding against its sheath.

Jon held the sword forth with a steady hand, its sharp tip barely grazing under the chin of the steward. The Valyrian steel embellishing the blade glistened under the sunlight and its reflection in the snow layering the ground. It served as a cue of sorts, pushing the rest of the men to clutch the handles of their own weapons, though they didn’t seem willing to have them leave the safety of their sheaths. Despite being unarmed, it didn’t look like the four Wildlings were flinching either.

The reflection of the blade spilled into his dark eyes, filling them with droplets of steel. It wasn’t the kind of freshly-forged steel, right out of the scorching ovens, veiled in whirlpools of fire and heat. But silent and distant, like the howl of a wolf in the cold night.

“We’ll talk about all of your worries later,” he said calmly, though his gaze remained still and frigid just like the grip on Longclaw. “I’m asking you all to return to your duties for now. Although… I don’t believe I have to _ask_.”

Of course, everything he said had to be accounted as an order, an irrefutable command. Jon had difficulty adapting to the concept, perhaps one of the reasons why he struggled to gain the respect of his own men. He’d much rather see people do something out of their own accord than to have them bend to his will.

All he could make out was a few grumbles. As some of the black brothers started turning their backs, taking disheartened steps away from the scene, he lowered his sword together with his eyes.

If he looked now, all he’d probably see was rage, or hatred, or fear – maybe all at once. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant sight. Soon after yet another set of steps started to fade into the distance, he raised his gaze once more, only to realize that Bowen Marsh was still there. The two stared at each other momentarily and Jon saw a certain numbness in the Lord Steward’s figure.

“I’m not trying to rage a war with you, Lord Commander,” Marsh spoke dully.

Jon chewed on the inside of his cheek, “Neither am I.”

“I’m trying to understand.”

This time, Marsh sounded audibly more irritated, albeit Jon could also see he was trying to hold back.

It felt like an automatism, but he peered towards Daenerys from the corners of his eyes, extending his sight soon thereafter toward the four Wildlings, now silenced but ultimately being sufficiently expressive with their footing alone.

 _She needs to know_ , Jon thought.

In the past few days, thoughts of _dragons_ had been on his mind.

Dragons high in the skies, journeying above seas of undead armies and scorching them alive. _Fire_ was their greatest and only offense against the wights and there was no fire greater than that of a dragon’s blaze. His skeptical side had doubts whether she could actually get them back or where future would see her, but if there had ever been a time to set the foundation, it was then.

“I know this is hard,” he breathed out, drifting his attention toward Marsh again. “The Watch has been defending the lands from Wildlings for centuries. But it’s different now. They’re not trying to attack us anymore, they’re running away from an enemy. Their enemy is ours too.” Even without looking, he could feel the piercing and hardened gazes of the Wildlings behind him and detect Daenerys’ confusion. “Winter is coming. We know what’s coming with it. Just because they were born on the wrong side of the Wall, that doesn’t mean that they deserve to be butchered and added to the Night’s King army. The more Wildlings remain north of the Wall, the bigger his army will be.”

Marsh was silent for a while, but he was a rather transparent person. It wasn’t difficult to notice the struggles within his head.

After a moment, he gave a sullen nod, shooting one last glare toward the Wildlings before turning sideways on his heel.

“You’re gonna have to work hard to convince everyone of this. You can’t expect people to trust blindly in the honesty of your intentions when their Lord Commander is _half a Wildling_.”

And just like Alliser Thorne a few nights prior, he started to walk away, trailing behind him a set of words that were very difficult to fight against.

That didn’t seem to stop the Wildlings, however. He heard a huff, his head wheeling slowly to observe a grey-bearded Wildling who was eying him intently up and down.

“Half a Wildling, this one? He’s prettier than all of my daughters. Can he even lift tha’ damn sword without his arms fallin’ off?”

Tormund’s eyes rolled unapologetically and he gave the other Wildling a sturdy shove.

“A stinkin’ pile of giant _shit_ is prettier than yer daughters. Get back to yer pile of hay and shut yer bloody mouth.”

From one to another, some sort of bickering ensured, one which Jon retreated his attention from as he walked up to Daenerys instead, lifting his gaze to look her in the eye – perhaps a bit gravely.

“We need to talk,” he sighed out.

_She needs to know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since many people seem interested in stannis, let me clarify: he's currently at the shadow tower and he's trying to rally northern houses. there will be a bigger portion dedicated to what happened with him and wildlings and stuff next chapter or the one after for better explanations. (:
> 
> anyway! yeah, jon, i think dany kinda does need to know you want her dragons to fight ice zombies. that's how possible alliances work, dumb dumb.
> 
> thank you all for kudos and comments! your support means the world to us. <3
> 
> next chapter is coming out on sunday/october 15th.


	7. Rubies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys learns about creatures of winter and builds an important bridge with Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heya, dearies!
> 
> so sorry this update came a day later; i got tangled up in work stuff and i had no time or energy to work on it. hope this chapter can make up for it somehow since it offers a moment that i'm sure was expected quite a lot.
> 
> happy reading!

 

**DAENERYS V**

Daenerys understood three things.

Jon was obviously trying to ally with the Wildlings.

The Wildlings and the men of the Night’s Watch did not trust each other despite this.

And they were running from something, an enemy bigger than those they made of each other, _the Night’s King._

“You have an enemy of your own,” she immediately stated the moment the door of the Lord Commander’s study closed behind them. “I am not the only one on the run, am I?”

She expectantly took a seat in the chair in front of his desk and let her gaze follow Jon’s steps as he moved around the table and sank into his own.

“You could definitely say it that way,” he sighed out.

Dany met Jon’s stare once more as he turned to her, his expression once again hard to decipher. She felt more and more frustrated about how difficult he was to see through.

“Just tell me what I need to know, Jon. No more secrets.” Her words were said with slight hesitation. Frankly, she wondered if she truly wanted to know. After all, she had a long list of problems herself, so could she also bear the burden of knowing whatever troubles he faced?

Given the fact that she had felt a, perhaps, stupid bitterness toward the fact there seemed to be important information he’d disclosed from her, that was probably a solid yes.

“Do you know why the Wall was built?” Jon asked and Dany arched a brow.

“Vaguely.”

It was clear he assumed she didn’t possess this knowledge, having been raised overseas on foreign lands. And he was partly right to do so. Viserys had only told her the Wall existed to keep a ‘foolish threat’ outside.

“Centuries ago, the Long Night came,” Jon started. “It was a winter that lasted for generations. The world succumbed to an eternal darkness – no sun, no warmth, no safety. When I was little, Old Nan used to tell me that women strangled their own children rather than see them die of cold or hunger and that, then, their tears would freeze on their cheeks before falling.” He tapped lightly against the desk, his black gloves filled with the snowflakes that had melted and turned into droplets of water. “That’s when they came, the Others. They had an army of the undead, destroyed everything in their wake until the First Men and the Children of the Forest pushed them back to the Lands of Always Winter. Bran the Builder and his men projected the Wall to keep the Others away. They built it as high and as wide as possible. Some say they founded it with magic, to make sure they wouldn’t be able to pass through. No one has seen them in a thousand years.” Furrowing his brows, he lifted his gaze, letting it wander through the chamber. “But a few years ago, when I was still a steward, a man who’s been dead for a few good days rose from his slumber and attacked me and the Lord Commander. I put my sword through his head and through his chest, but only the fire of a lamp stopped him. And now, they’re coming back. They’re coming back with the Long Night. This is why the Free Folk are fleeing, risking their lives to go south of the Wall. Every person they kill becomes a soldier in their army of wights. And the White Walkers… they’re winter personified, beings born out of powerful magic that none of our armies will be able to stop.”

Dany’s gaze was locked onto Jon even when he was done with explaining what she had wanted to know. She noticed the way his hands curled into fists and how his eyes held an intensity she had not yet seen from him in private. No man could tell a lie that passionately when sober. She held his gaze for a long moment, her own eyes wide as she tried to make sense of what he was truly saying.

Suddenly, she felt heavy under his gaze, so she stood up and walked over to a window. It helped to see how the world outside was unaffected by his words. Everything was still standing, the Wall which had protected the Seven Kingdoms for hundreds upon hundreds of years still had the Night’s Watch.

How was it possible to bring back people from the dead?

A part of her wanted to simply brush his story off as nothing but stories, but she knew it would never be that easy. Had she not survived a blazing fire, only to bring to life three creatures that were meant to be extinct? Three powerful, all-mighty dragons no less.

She tried to figure out the next move to make, needing to react to this new piece of information instantly. Daenerys knew even now it would change everything.

She looked outside at the layer of snow which covered the ground. The North was cold, she had known that, but the thought of creatures that were winter personified was a thought fit for nightmares.

“You need fire,” she spoke suddenly, a clear first reaction. She turned around to look at him once more, her eyes full of sudden clarity. “You want my dragons.”

“I don’t want your dragons,” Jon clarified, lifting his eyes again as a token of his truthful conviction. “I’m asking you to decide whether _you_ want to help us.”

To the untrained hearing, it didn’t sound like it was much of a difference, but it was. It seemed as if he didn’t want to be the one standing on top of the Wall, blowing a horn and bending the wills of her children as he hurled them into battle. Whatever moves and contribution they would have, it would be _her_ pulling the strings to their actions.

“Do you want the horn as well? Or do you have faith I will join you in this fight when my children return to me?” Daenerys queried.

She figured it was a fair question to ask. His answer would even prove them to be allies or mark him as a political enemy.

“I don’t want the horn,” he said. “I shall help you retrieve it, if I can, and my suggestion is to destroy it altogether.”

“And I am eager to do so, believe me.”

Jon sat up, treading closer to her and prompting himself in the scattered rays of cold light that pooled in through the window.

“You don’t have to decide now,” he murmured. “You want your dragons back first, I understand that. It’s better that we focus on one problem at a time.” Something in his gaze told Dany that there was a major _but_ about to follow. “But you say you want to be queen. The Queen. There will be nothing to rule over, Westeros and Essos, if we don’t stop the Others. I just want you to know that.”

“If I did nothing as an army of the dead spilled over the Wall, I would be no better than the snakes of House Lannister. I would not deserve to sit on any throne, not here nor in Essos.”

“I was not trying to measure your worth.”

It truly did not sound as if he’d tried to, but Dany could not help but feel the need to lift her defenses anyway. Perhaps it was because she knew she was a throneless, dragonless Dragon Queen, something that could easily make her amount to little to nothing.

“I know,” she said. “You want to ensure my help.”

“If I can.”

Her violet eyes fixed him intently.

This was not an easy decision to make. She would first have to decide on whether she believed his stories to begin with. But accepting to partake in this fight would likely cost her the crown she had strived for her whole life. Daenerys was not above admitting that after losing so much in its pursuit, she was not so eager to see it gone.

But for the salvation of her people, it almost seemed like a no-brainer.

“Tell me all you know about the Others and the Night’s King,” she spoke, leaning back into her chair.

During the next few minutes, Daenerys listened to Jon as he enlisted a plethora of pieces of information – half facts, half hollow assumptions. Many of these details were lost on her in the process. She learned of a dark reign of this Night’s King, mentions of something called _dragonglass,_ which she eventually found out was another word for frozen fire, things about _wights,_ undead corpses, White Walkers, and so on.

By the end of the exposition, she felt slightly burned out by the mental efforts, so she was certainly grateful to see this meeting interrupted by Jon’s summons for other, bigger duties.

When he rose from his seat, he hesitated slightly.

“I hope we can find a conclusion to this conversation at some point,” said Jon, cloaking his shoulders with the black mantle.

“We will,” Dany assured him with full conviction. “I do not plan on leaving you hanging for long. I only need some time to run everything through my head.”

He nodded slowly and she could not help but feel like there was genuine understanding in his eyes, even if she suspected he harbored an ounce of impatience too.

When she exited the study, Daenerys realized that it was nearly dusk, which meant that dinner was about to be served. The food at Castle Black was nothing delish and savory, but it was much better than what she had lived off the past few months of her travels. It was warm and it kept her belly filled for a sufficient amount of time and that was all that mattered.

The past couple of days, food had been brought to her chambers by Jon’s steward, Satin. Perhaps it was to not agitate spirits further with her presence in the hall.

But she’d bumped shoulders with some of the men closer to the Lord Commander, who had extended to her invitations to join them sometime. After spending so much time with no one but the Unsullied around, Dany longed for chattier company, to learn new things and spend time with new people.

Two Unsullied followed her everywhere she went, including to the hall that was now her current destination. Of course, it definitely helped draw more attention onto her, but she was beyond used to being the center of scornful looks.

After scouting her surroundings, she found the familiar faces that had shown her some friendliness and she could not help but lift a smile when she saw them gesture for her to join them.

So, she did.

“The Lord Commander told me something,” Dany spoke, only after a few minutes had passed and eased her into conversation.

“What’s that?” queried one of the men, Dolorous Edd, his teeth tearing at the loaf of bread in his hand.

“About some creatures called the Others.” The table suddenly fell into an eerie silence. “And a Night’s King.” She noticed how there were unsettled glances being exchanged. For a moment, she thought the topic may be inappropriate and disturbing, but this was more than a mere curiosity. She needed some other opinions. “Are his sayings true?”

“Aye,” sighed another, his name Pypar – or Pyp, as he liked to be called.

“We’ve seen them,” joined in Grenn.

This truly sparked Dany’s attention.

“Seen them?”

“During a ranging,” explained Edd. “They swarmed us at the Fist of the First Men.”

“It’s true,” confirmed the fourth of the men, Halder.

“I doubt you wish to hear of this, my Lady,” lamented Dolorous Edd. “Kept us all awake for nights. Surely you have plenty of bad dreams of your own.”

And, truly, she did. A nagging skeptical voice pondered that maybe they were merely playing along for the sake of their friendship with Jon, but then she remembered not even those alight with the flames of fury in the courtyard had seemed to have shut down these sayings.

“Thank you,” Dany spoke after a moment’s worth. “This is all I need to know for now.”

Even if she said that, the decision did not come to her during the slumber of that night.

But the more it was delayed, the more she was inclined to believe in the genuineness of this threat. The morning after, as she toured around the castle, there were times when she was listening in to the conversations buzzing around her. Everyone spoke of a threat from north of the Wall.

At last, Daenerys realized that, in fact, her decision had been made already. The moment she’d told Jon that she would not turn a blind eye to this threat, else she would be as lowly as Robert Baratheon. She’d heard plenty of tales of his lousy rule from Tyrion and Varys.

This time, Dany dared to seek Jon out in his study, her knuckles determinedly colliding with the old wood.

They would be allies from then on.

He said he would try to help her, even if she didn’t know how that would come to happen exactly. And, in turn, she would offer him – and the realm – her help against the Others. After all, what did she have to lose if he would be proven a liar? 

The door opened and her eyes, fiercely glimmering with the physical announcement of her decision, found Jon’s gaze.

“Lady Daenerys,” he said and Dany realized he didn’t want to risk questionable informalities with the door crept open.

“I have made up my mind, Lord Commander,” she proclaimed simply, feeling pangs of disappointment when she noticed, once again, that his face did not betray his feelings.

“Come in.”

She took a single step in, her gaze swiping across the chamber until it caught a glimpse of something white by the corner of his desk. _Fur._ And _paws._ A wolf, as she’d seen in picture books and in the House of the Undying, was resting on its side by the table.

When Jon closed the door behind her, the creaking sound snapped the beast’s eyes open and when its head rose and its gaze found her, she realized they were like rubies.

Dany realized her breathing had hitched in her throat as she watched the wolf gracefully shift up to its feet, that sea of crimson enveloping around her very being.

“This is my direwolf, Ghost,” she heard Jon say, snapping her out of her daze.

Jon stepped in front of her, joining the sight and stroking his fingers behind the animal’s ear.

As her awe thwarted, she was driven by her fascination to a crouching before the beast, her own hand slowly reaching toward the direwolf’s head. A _direwolf,_ not just a mere wolf, after all. When the direwolf seemed to accept her hand, she carefully stroked his white fur. It was softer than she had imagined it could be. Without thinking, she started murmuring something to him in Valyrian, the tongue in which she always used to speak with her dragons. After a blissful moment, she looked up at Jon with a smile.

“He is beautiful,” Dany bemused earnestly.

Jon huffed lightly.

“Some of my men would disagree.” He leaned lightly against the desk. “They would argue _frightening_ would much rather be the proper term.”

It was exactly her situation with her dragons, Dany realized.

She lazily stroked at Ghost’s fur for a moment more.

“How did you two find each other?” she queried with genuine curiosity.

“My brothers and I found these direwolf pups near Winterfell one day,” he answered. “Initially, they were five, three male and two female, just like the Stark children, so we took it as a sign. This one here, though… Almost didn’t see him. Tucked behind a log and lost in the snow, the runt of the litter. I knew he was for me.” Jon’s fingers grazed at Ghost’s cheek, noting the red eyes that immediately turned to him, sparkling as if they were filled by the consciousness that he was the topic of conversation. “I named him Ghost because he never makes a sound. That and he is the only white one of his siblings.”

Dany noted how Jon seemed to have found solace in the direwolf being the runt of the litter. _Just like him,_ she thought idly.

But, most of all, she could not help but find amazement in having encountered another bound so strongly to what so many would consider a beast. He’d said so himself, after all.

“It’s amazing how much these beautiful beasts mean to us,” murmured Dany. “They cannot talk, they can never give any vow of loyalty yet they are more loyal than a man could ever be. They only prove actions are more important than words.” Her gaze had slipped back to Ghost as she spoke but it had grown distant. If Euron Greyjoy had hurt her dragons in any way, she would make him suffer for all eternity if it were in her power.

“Aye,” Jon said simply, but his voice vibrated with an understanding that resonated deep within her, instilling a faraway serenity.

Retracting her hand, Dany rose back to her feet, suddenly reminded of the initial purpose of her visit.

“I will offer you my help,” she claimed, her voice much softer than perhaps it would have been without the magical moment prior. “You said the Night’s Watch had a duty to protect people. I have a duty too. To you and to the people of the Seven Kingdoms. I will not let death sweep over them, not if there is a just the tiniest sliver of belief that I can prevent it.”

He eyed her intently and she wished so _ardently_ to get even a glimpse of his mind.

“And I mine,” Jon responded. “As limited as it may be.” That much was expected. Her stay here was only meant to secure a safe place while Varys found those much-needed allies in Westeros, as well as a shelter for her own peace of mind.

“I appreciate any help,” she reassured him, frankness in her voice.

“You are free to read through any of the books stored here. I do not know how useful the information they possess is, but it is a start.”

 _Books._ That was definitely a good start. She did not know from what wretched shadowed realm Euron had pulled that horn from, but perhaps the scriptures of Westeros’ famed maesters would contain some much-needed and priceless knowledge.

“Are there any books on Westeros?” she suddenly found herself asking.

“Yes, of course.”

“Then these books will _certainly_ be useful.”

Even if there would be no information on that accursed horn, Dany could spend her time learning more about this realm that was still so foreign despite serving as her homeland.

“I have some personal favorites,” Jon said and the mild nonchalance in his voice was a stark contrast to his usual composure. “If you have the time to find me tomorrow, perhaps I can provide them for you.”

Dany’s lips curled into a small smile.

“I do have time. And what better way to put it to use?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole business with the others is still not something dany 100% believes in, but it's gonna be dealt with later, soooo.
> 
> as per usual, really, really, really grateful for the awesome feedback and i am ecstatic over each comment, kudos, or bookmark.
> 
> we'll be making some slow but steady progress next chapter, so stay tuned for the update this friday, on the 20th. ;)


	8. Dusk And Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit is paid to Meereen. Daenerys deals with the symptoms of loneliness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heya! a new chapter's here for ya!
> 
> so, as you'll notice right off the bat: there's a tyrion pov! but, no, it won't be featured heavily. only when it specifically ties in with future events involving jon and dany. and this one DEFINITELY does. a lot of solid, spicy drama is being set up in here. ;)
> 
> anywho, enjoy and seeya at the end!

**TYRION I**

There were footsteps approaching him.

At this late hour, when the sky was swallowed by the oranges of dusk and when Tyrion’s primary leisure activity was being sprawled across a set of stairs with a half empty jug of wine in his hand, it could have only been one person.

“Have you sent the letter on its merry way, Lord Varys?” he queried flatly, eyes observing with disinterest as the sun got lost in Meereen’s horizons.

“I have,” replied Varys. From the corners of his eyes, Tyrion saw the eunuch was standing one stair higher by his side, his arms snaked through his long sleeves. “I wager the first one must be reaching Castle Black around this time.”

“It might be,” uttered Tyrion. He felt Varys’ glance on him.

“You do not seem awfully convinced of that, my Lord. How so?”

“Point me to the _nearest_ map and I shall describe to you a number of reasons.”

“A healthy dose of skepticism,” hummed Varys. “Though, need I remind you I have supervised an information exchange between Essos and King’s Landing for several years?”

“The Wall is not King’s Landing.”

“And yet our message will reach our Queen all the same.” Tyrion had nothing to say to that. Not because he had been magically _converted_ to harbor hope, but because he felt too jaded to argue. “ _If…_ you still wish for it to reach her, that is.”

This was the statement that finally convinced Tyrion to twist his head and settle a quizzical scowl on the eunuch’s figure. Oh, he bore _that_ all-knowing expression again.

“Please, do not rush to explain yourself, Lord Varys. I do love a good late-hour cryptic message to decipher when my mind is found at moments of peak distress.”

Varys sighed, too dramatically for his taste.

“I still stand by my humble opinion,” he spoke, more grimly now. “I do not think it was wise to incorporate the… _details_ you have provided.”

“Oh,” sneered Tyrion, taking a chug of wine, “it’s _that_ again.”

“Forgive me, Lord Tyrion, I simply fail to understand their purpose.”

“Their purpose, Varys, is to keep her focused on the _proper_ goal.”

“Proper goal,” scoffed Varys, clearly battling a roll of his eyes. “Do you not believe a madman that has taken her dragons and her people is enough?”

“I never said that.” Tyrion held up a finger. “I said it is not the _proper goal._ Revenge can only get you so far, Varys. Her goal needs to be the aid and freedom of her people, not the many ways in which she can make Euron Greyjoy beg for the mercy of his Drowned God.” And he spoke from experience here.

It was clear through Varys’ face that he was trying his hardest to believe that. Ultimately, he resorted to a sigh, his gaze returning to the fading sunset.

“And you are certain she will not instead be tipped _over_ the edge and impulsively seek out a different way?”

“No, of course not,” huffed Tyrion. “I barely know her. But it is a risk we needed to take. Her stay at Castle Black will not be a docile one, I’m afraid. There are stranger faces and scornful looks everywhere and the wait for _your_ solutions could be long and unpleasant. She needs to know that patience is her only patience now and that people are dying for it.”

“A bit of a cruel way to teach lessons, is it not?”

For the first time during this conversation, one corner of Tyrion’s mouth twitched lightly.

“I owe everything I know to my late father,” he said, bitterly, and then downed the remaining wine.

* * *

 

**DAENERYS VI**

She had been getting ready to leave her chambers and meet the Lord Commander in his study when Satin Flowers had knocked on her door. Jon had been busy with some interferences, the steward had told her. Satin also wanted to let her know that he could fetch the books from Jon’s solar for her, but she had refused.

It was not the company of the books that Daenerys wanted.

She had spent so much time in the isolation of her travels that she was socially starved. How could reading all by herself in the confinement of her chamber satiate this hunger? Edd, and Grenn, and Pyp, and Halder – they were all pleasant company, but not for this sort of activity. They could not read, for starters. Or, well, in Edd’s case, not that well. And she doubted they would be reliable sources regardless. Jon had been given a proper maester’s education, after all.

That and he was intriguing enough of a company.

Several more days had passed since then, the number getting lost on Daenerys, who could only focus on her growing frustrations. She had spent some time with Aemon’s diaries, but she had soon found Jon had been right when he’d warned her most of the scribbles were the things of maesters. She had simply given up at some point.

After a while, she’d forgotten altogether about the books Jon had promised her and sought out the library herself, grabbing the first few books she’d landed her gaze on. Most of them were new to her anyway.

One book in and she was bored already. Or was it _boredom?_

Her nights were growing increasingly more difficult to bear, loneliness being a foreign and abhorrent concept. She’d always had her bed warmed by another, too used to the sounds of swift heartbeats and breathing.

_Loneliness._

It was such an awful, unseen enemy, one that only brought her haunting nightmares and a mind-numbing sense of isolation.

This was what ultimately brought her to the door of the Lord Commander’s study once more, though she did hesitate a bit before knocking. She had technically been invited, hadn’t she? Maybe he had simply forgotten.

He opened the door and the mild surprise in his features told her she had been right.

“Oh,” Jon breathed out. “The books.” He was straightforward enough to make Dany feel that he was harboring some guilt over his forgetfulness.

“The books,” she confirmed, a sympathetic smile on her lips.

“I apologize, I—” he sighed, opening the door wider. “It has completely slipped my mind.”

“Do not fret,” she reassured, stepping inside of the room, already feeling slightly lighter. “Responsibilities wait for no one, especially for such trivial matters. In fact, if I am occupying crucial time as we speak, all you must do is tell me.” _Though I would rather you didn’t._

“No, actually.” He closed the door, some sort of a tentative, strained smile on his face. “Right now is fine.”

She nodded, wrapping the cloak tighter around her as a shiver jotted up her spine.

With a quick turn on his heels, Jon walked to the table, reaching underneath to find a drawer, and then returned with a book in his hands. It was fairly medium-scaled, bound in light brown leather and with golden embellishments lined along to decorate it.

“My friend Sam started reading this one before leaving for the Citadel,” he said. “He didn’t get to finish it, so I’ve decided to continue it instead – whenever I get the time.”

“Which is not very often, I imagine,” remarked Dany, her eyes curiously settling on the book.

Jon was slowly pacing around as he flicked idly through its pages, moving in the shower of light pooling through the window.

“It’s mostly useless, really,” he uttered. “Although, I wager it would be of some use in the hands of whoever bears an insatiable ardor to learn the details of life in the North before the Age of Heroes.”

“The Age of Heroes?” queried Dany and she saw Jon’s attention dart toward her instead.

“The time of tales such as Bran the Builder and Lann the Clever,” he clarified. Or, well, _wanted_ to clarify.

“My education mostly came from my brother,” she explained. “He did not speak often of anything before Aegon’s Conquest. Of Bran the Builder I know, if only because of his legacy, the Wall.”

“There is definitely a lot more to him than the Wall,” said Jon, his voice sympathetic.

He walked away from his spot by the window and closed the space stretched between them, holding the book for her to take. So she did, quite eagerly even, twisting around to find better lightning as she flipped it open. And as Jon turned to, likely, fetch more books, she felt his shoulder gently graze hers.

Her breath got caught in her throat for barely a blink as an unexpected feeling settled in her bones. A strange warmth pooled at the base of her stomach after fluttering around for a few seconds. It blanked her mind a sufficient amount of time to not notice when Jon had settled again for that spot by the window.

“A moment,” he spoke, nearly startling her. “This one is better and easier to understand. You ought to start your lecture here, if I may.”

Dany released a heavy breath, shutting the book in her hand closed and moving to join him in the pools of cold light, fortunately overtaken by the curiosity of the words engraved in the pages once more. But she felt her cheek slightly brush into his shoulder as she leaned in for a closer look and she was painfully reminded of the twisting flutters in her gut again.

“How is this one different?” she asked suddenly, urged by the need to bury this unsettling flow through her innards.

“It speaks in greater detail of Garth Greenhand, of Durran of House Durrandon, of the Grey King…” Everything sounded so awfully foreign to her she almost felt ashamed.

She glanced up at Jon, the distance between them even lesser than before.

“It seems I have much to learn still, but not much time. I will try my best to read through everything I can find,” said Dany, her voice laced with soft determination.

“Half of the people of this realm know even less than you about this country’s roots. I would not rush it.”

“That is no excuse,” she insisted. “I cannot rule over a people I do not know the story of.”

After a moment, Jon drifted his gaze back toward the pages and started to mutter words about Bran the Builder, which quickly started getting tossed at the back of her head.

When she was this close to Jon, she could see every line marking his face. Every scar he had ever acquired during this life. She imagined most of them were from his time at the Wall. A man with many scars was either someone with a mighty temper or someone brave enough to fight the battles no one else dared to fight.

Daenerys realized she was staring too long and too intently at Jon, so she tore her eyes away from his figure and returned to read over the page. She had to read it all over again, the information having already been lost after she had gotten distracted.

“It must be a lot to take in,” spoke Jon, his voice soft yet loud enough to serve as yet another token of their proximity. “You can take your time.”

As her eyes scanned over each word, she could feel Jon’s eyes on her despite the subtlety of it. And she felt herself _burning_ under his gaze.

“There is no point in us wasting time like this,” she said, lifting her gaze only to see him remove his. “I am certain I will manage on my own, Jon.”

“Of course,” he confirmed, holding out three other books he had allegedly had tugged underneath his arm this whole time. “Here, these are yours as well for now.”

Her hands closed around the books as soon as Jon passed it to her.

“Thank you,” Dany spoke meekly.

As he walked past her and back toward his desk, she fought against the urge to let a sigh pass her lips. Her heart slowed and the pleasant flame which had settled in her bones seemed to die out. It was quenched as reality set back in. They were the very reason she was standing with a book clutched in her hands.

The moment had gone as quickly as it had come, thus maybe it was simply her mind playing tricks on her. Loneliness could do strange things to people, she knew it only too well.

Daenerys was still up on her feet as Jon succumbed into his seat, his gaze wandering aimlessly along the edges of his desk.

“I understand why you like them,” she said suddenly, recalling the moment in the courtyard from days before. “The Wildlings, I mean.” Her saying seemed to have caught Jon’s attention, as his gaze finally settled on her.

 Before she had a chance to explain herself, there was a rapid series of knocks on the door. She was expecting to see Satin when the door opened but found herself surprised to see Grey Worm standing there instead.

“My Queen,” he said, solemnly.

“Is there something the matter, Grey Worm?”

He didn't reply.

It seemed clearly like a matter to be kept between the two of them. Perhaps Jon would find it strange, but she knew Grey Worm did not interrupt without good reason.

“That’s a story for another time, it seems,” she sighed out, turning to face Jon as he stood up from his chair as a gesture of departure curtsy.

“So it seems,” he said, but Dany did not feel any enthusiasm to speak of it in his voice.

She clutched the four books to her chest as she made her way over to the door.

“Take care, Jon. Now that you know I am an ally, I hope days will not pass before we have a chance to talk again.”

“Perhaps,” he said, simply.

Daenerys gave him a gentle smile, one which was full of sincerity before she followed Grey Worm out of the study.

It was an issue of some black brother that had attempted to break into her room, stopped by the Unsullied posted at her door. Dany later found out it had been a human mistake of a beyond drunken men who had wandered into the wrong tower. But, of course, Grey Worm had deemed it as a perilous break-in or an act of espionage.

Once back in her chambers, Dany could not shrug off the remnants of the contact that had rattled her.

She set the books on her night desk and lowered herself to a sitting on the edge of the bed, her fingers gripping at the balls of her knees.

 _Loneliness,_ she reminded herself.

It had been far too long since she had known the comfort of another’s presence.

Truly, it was a monster, one that stirred plenty of thoughts in her head, some that definitely did not belong to this reality, to this setting, to her _circumstances._ But could it truly be so wrong?

She was given plenty of time to ponder over her plans before the opportunity to set them in motion had come to fruition. By that point, she had unbound her braid and swapped her day attire for her night one.

There was a knock on her door and she opened it to come to face Satin’s sight.

It was relatively common by then. Jon had found it best to appoint one of his own stewards to her needs, likely because they were trustworthy, she wagered. _Oh, the irony._

“Your meal, my Lady,” he said.

As she removed the tray from his hands, she allowed herself a brief time to rake her gaze over him. She set the trey to the side and they stared at each other in silence for a while. Some attempts at a conversation were uttered and Dany could feel a _craving_ bloom in her stomach.

Much to her fortune, all it took was a bold invitation.

And next thing she knew, Satin was inside her room and, eventually, in her bed too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. those of you that have been reading comments probably know that i've mentioned already dany will get "involved" with someone else in the beginning. and, yes, it's satin. good news: this literally only lasts through the next chapter and the one after. and it's nothing serious. just a good ol' booty call for a lonely, hormonal young woman.
> 
> i'm ecstatic to start taking baby steps with this slow burn, so lemme know what you think in the comments! yes, this chapter exists as a setup and for some dank sexual tension, ahoooooy.
> 
> thank you so much to all the wonderful support and feedback!
> 
> next update will be on tuesday, 24th of october.


	9. Skies Bleed Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon starts negotiations with the Wildlings and discovers reasons to make Daenerys' stay longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HO-LY HELL.
> 
> man, that last chapter resulted in quite the discourse storm. i definitely don't mind it, especially since i know none of the concerns are founded, but i do have a couple of kind requests:  
> 1) please stay civil;  
> 2) don't assume you know where the story's headed and just go, "this story sucks and it's ruined i hate it ktxbye" because chances are you're hella wrong.
> 
> in other words, today's update is a jon pov, which means you won't be getting answers to the satin plot. it's a chapter that essentially sets the transition into the real core of the story. in other words, the setting up part is coming to an end and the juicy bits are coming.
> 
> well, i'll just let you discover it for yourselves then.
> 
> p.s. read the end notes since they're important.
> 
> thanks!

**JON VI**

“You must try to keep it under control,” screeched Jon, his tension already brewing some thick clouds of wroth.

Tormund was staring at him with disinterested, foreign eyes, slouched in his seat from across the table. It was only the two of them and another Wildling in the hall, a Wildling man named Grunell, the eldest out of the grouping of four serving as guests in all but name at Castle Black. Perhaps it was his age that had granted him the wisdom to make an attempt at crafting a bridge with the _Lord Crow._

“I ain’t no one’s mother, Jon Snow,” grunted Tormund and Jon immediately released a defeated sigh.

“I understand your stance, but—”

“Do ya now, Jo—”

“ _But,_ ” Jon insisted, “one of you must take hold of the reins and assume some sort of guiding position. Otherwise, it will only be chaos.”

“Why does _he_ get to be the one talked into leadership?” asked Grunell, scratching at his long, grey beard.

“Because I have known him longer,” Jon clarified, even though he probably shouldn’t have. It sounded like a bored jest more than a serious remark. He leaned into his elbow over the table, his eyes fixing Tormund’s intently. “This is serious, Tormund. Two of your men, of your _kin_ have managed the impressive feat of making an even worse case for themselves. You cannot raid the kitchens and take whatever you want, whenever you want.”

“Damn you, Crow, I _know_ that,” hissed Tormund, his frustration seeping through. “Thought I haven’t told ‘em that? They’d rather die stealin’ yer mead and killin’ yer men than rot away in this fuckin’ place.”

“Then don’t.” Jon’s voice had turned softer, though it did not lose the gravity in it.

Tormund’s brow bolted.

“Ye not askin’ us to fight in the army of that southern king of yers again, I hope.”

“I am.”

“Fuckin’ incredible,” jibed Grunell, about to rise from his seat when Tormund grabbed a firm hold of his arm. “Let go of me, Tormund.”

“Sit down,” growled Tormund.

“This is what you get for tryin’ to reason with these damn _Crows_.”

“For fuck’s sake, _sit down,_ Grunell.”

He complied, though not without making his displeasure known beforehand.

“Listen to me, Lord Crow,” he held Jon’s gaze firmly. “That king of yours is the reason we’re here now, the reason why we were pushed back behind this block of ice again. Maybe if you bothered to take his cock out of your mouth, you’d realize that we ain’t _ever_ gonna follow ‘im and fight for _his_ wars.”

Jon sighed, “It is not in my personal interest to supply Stannis Baratheon’s army.” That wasn’t entirely true. With his mission being purging Winterfell of Bolton occupation, it was very much something _personal_. But he definitely did often lie to himself that it wasn’t anymore and that all of his interests were with the Night’s Watch.

“Doesn’t matter what your interest is,” Tormund joined in. “Not gonna happen, Jon Snow.”

“Very well,” replied Jon, his gloved knuckles tapping into the table wood. “He has asked of me to try persuading you and this is what I have done. But the fact that your people need to get south of the Wall still stands.”

Both Wildling men shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“S’what we’ve been tryin’ to do for thousands of years,” said Tormund, lowly. “Haven’t been very successful. No thanks to you lot.”

“This will not be a concern of yours anymore,” Jon insisted. “As Lord Commander, I can grant you free passage. I have already sent back the spearwives and other hostages as a gesture of good will. If _you_ go tell them that there is a safe path south, they may just believe you.”

“Would they be daft to _believe_ you, Lord Crow?” queried Grunell.

“No,” Jon said, determinedly. “Our days of quarreling must come to an end.”

“ _Very well_ ,” chimed Tormund, clearly mimicking his wording from earlier. “Want me to go tell my people the Crows are lettin’ us flock? I can do that. But no one’s gonna be movin’ a bone.”

Jon started to feel his frustrations soar higher.

“If they are as stubborn as to—”

“What you offerin’ to us?”

Jon’s mouth hanged agape, “—What?”

“You want ‘em to actually listen to ya? Don’t make it into some bullshit gesture of good will. No one’s gonna believe a damn thing. We’re fair folk, Snow. Come forth with somethin’ you want from us and _then_ we’ll be talking.”

Jon pondered these words for a while. It did make sense. Simply coming forward and handing passages, and lands, and freedom on a silver platter would look beyond questionable and suspicious. With a sigh, he pinched at the bridge of his nose.

“I have nothing to ask of you,” he muttered in defeat. “Nothing that would warrant a _fair_ trade. All I have is the army of a southern king.”

“Well,” scoffed Tormund, rising from his seat and shooting him a crooked grin, “best lie awake tonight and think on it then. And don’t ya worry about Harnolf and Lok. I’m gonna smack some sense into ‘em.”

After this taxing exchange, Jon stepped outside of the hall to find Edd leaning into the wall by the door, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes closed. Jon gave his shoulder a light nudge and the other jumped, rubbing at his eyes with a groan.

“Were you sleeping, Edd?” questioned Jon, a glimmer of amusement dancing on his pursed lips.

“I was trying,” he sighed. “Sleeping is a favorite pastime of mine. The more I sleep, the higher the chances I can die simply by drifting away and never waking up. Better than freezing in a puddle of my own blood by the stables.”

Jon winced lightly.

“I suppose.” He arranged his gloves and stared off toward the morose sky, thick with grey clouds that threatened a storm breakout. “Let us get back to my study.”

The two started moving and he felt Edd’s inquisitive gaze on him.

“It was that bad, was it not?”

“Could have been worse still,” grumbled Jon.

“They’re not going to fight for King Stannis, are they?”

“So they claim. Tormund and Grunell are Wildlings through and through. If they believe it all to be futile, I have faith in it being true.”

There was a pause and then Edd hesitatingly questioned, “Does the lady know?” Jon’s brows furrowed. “Lady Daenerys, I mean.”

“What does this all have to do with her?”

“As a child, I have received more beatings with leather straps than education. But I am still fairly confident Robert Baratheon’s brother _does_ have plenty to do with her.”

“I know,” Jon released a mighty sigh, “I know what you _mean_. Stannis is not here. It will take him months to garner the forces necessary to withstand a possible siege on Winterfell.”

“I suppose that is right,” mumbled Edd. “She will be long gone by the time he makes his way back, assuming he does not end up a wall decoration on Roose Bolton’s wall. I know I would.”

 _She will be long gone_. Jon grimaced lightly, realizing the off putting nature of this realization. His face was contorted in the heaviness of his ponders, he could tell. He could also tell from Edd’s curious glance that he wanted to ask, ‘Or is that not the plan?’

Maybe he didn’t have as much of a plan as he thought he did. All that he knew was that he didn’t know. _You know nothing, Jon Snow._ And right now, he did not know this young woman, not enough to confide in her with the knowledge of an alliance with the Stag King. If she decided to paint him as a traitor who supported a usurper and to _leave,_ any hope of convincing her to pledge her dragons to their cause might be lost.

For now, she did not need to know.

* * *

 

A fortnight and a half had already passed since Daenerys’ arrival at Castle Black.

Ever since he had granted her access to the plethora of books in the vaults, she had been spending her time restlessly browsing through various lectures, if the fact that he’d seen books in her hands every time he had encountered her since were an indicator.

Several times, they had sat down at a table in the library, attempting to contour some military strategies. She was waiting for allies, for an army to leave Westeros and to fight for Meereen with.

“An army cannot withstand dragon fire,” she had told him one particular day, late into the night. “If I cannot find how to fight against the magic of the horn, it will all be for naught.”

 “You cannot read every book in here in a moon’s time.” His eyes had been filled with a silent apology regarding his skeptic, near-mood-killing remark, but hers had been filled with nothing but stubborn hope.

“I can _try_.”

“Are you certain you can find knowledge on such things here?” Jon asked tentatively.

“Euron Greyjoy is a Westerosi man, is he not?”

“A Westerosi man who spent most of his life sailing on foreign sees and roaming through Essos.” According to Theon, at least. With his thoughts on Theon Greyjoy, he’d shared with Daenerys the story of his deeds. He’d found earnest sympathy in her response, but also something else.

“Revenge will be ours one day,” she had proclaimed. “A kraken can burn too and so can wooden ships. When I destroy House Greyjoy, I will do so for myself and your brothers. No more blood will ever be spilled from any member of the house of pirates and traitors.”

He had met her eyes, brows furrowed gently, and gave a reluctant nod before removing his gaze.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he admitted. “One house isn’t responsible for the deeds of several.” His thoughts immediately glided to Tyrion Lannister, a fortunate exception in a literal lion’s den.

“I will bring justice to those deserving of it,” had been her final response and Jon found himself pondering on the meaning of this sentence throughout the following night.

He had thought it to be a fair, yet ruthless statement. He’d seen flickers of a dragon swirled in her irises during her speech, but several nights later, he had seen blotches of green and blue in them, on that night when he had brought her to the top of the Wall for the first time.

A black brother had been spending time drinking his duty away at post and Jon had assumed the chore of smacking some sense into him, leaving behind the strategizing with Daenerys, but not her. He’d extended the invitation out of some sudden urge to soothe loneliness.

And when they had ended up above the world, Jon had found the sight of her mesmerized face a lot more interesting to look at than the Northern lights floating above the distant Lands of Always Winter. Maybe it was the fact that she’d resembled an awed child enthralled by the small wonders of the world, very unlike what he’d picture from the infamous Dragon Queen.

“That over there,” he’d held out a hand, pointing to the line that split the sky from the land, “it’s called the Land of Always Winter. Cold, and terrible, and eternal, and magical, it seems. Above, the skies bleed light.”

Dark as it’d been, the sky had been filled with trails of glowing colors. Green clashed with violet, and pink, and edges of blue. They cut across the sky as if it were dripping, melting into a green mist that hovered above the North that no one had ever dared to explore before.

“In Meereen, I would stand and just look down at everything,” she had spoken softly. “It was my place to think and remind myself of what I was fighting for - and against.”

“What’s Essos like?” he’d delivered the question after a while. And then came another, and another, another.

In no time, as the green mists started to fade, getting swallowed in the pitch abyss hovering above the Lands of Always Winter, his attention had shifted completely, absorbed into a story exchange that constantly emphasized the differences between their worlds. He found solace in the fact that he could speak of his childhood at Winterfell, of his various mischiefs with Robb, or how irredeemably wild and untamed Arya was.

By the time the night had come to an end and he found himself in his chambers, Jon was drifting to sleep with a strange sense of serenity pooling in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

 

The following day, he woken up one hour earlier than usual after a lengthy night of deep slumber, the best one he’d gotten in a while. One of the brothers had bragged the night before about discovering a combination between ale and a “special” cabbage recipe that could knock a grown-up man into his pillow for a string of several uninterrupted hours. The first thought in Jon’s head that morning was that he’d have to congratulate the boy (and write the recipe down somewhere).

Accidentally, it was the perfect day for an early wake-up.

Upon his arrival to the dining hall, he was hurled right in the middle of yet another heated argument. It took a few good tries, stomps, and possible fight break-ups to reach the core of the problem. One of the novice kitchen workers ended up forgetting to bring a sack of supplies in and, thus, all of the food froze and went bad. After Jon convinced everyone that they’d just have to settle for less food that breakfast, he assured that they’d simply go out and get other supplies, working twice as hard and fast to make up for the lost goods.

The air was thick with fumes of anger and frustrations – luckily, this time they weren’t directed at him. It didn’t mean that he found it in him to stick around the lot while food preparations were underway, though.

Instead, he returned to his tower, suddenly decided to occupy his time in-between by announcing Daenerys about this special situation.

If it were any other day, he doubted she would have been able to hear those words from Jon himself, but their need to focus on resupplying had just cleared some parts of his schedule. Moreover, the extensive sleeping hours had hurled him into a surprisingly good mood – certainly, as good of a mood the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch could be in.

There was also the fact that he had no luck in finding Satin that particular moment. He was willing to blame it on the unusually early wakening hour, assuming the boy was probably still fast asleep, but it became an unfounded assumption when Jon’s shoulder brushed past Satin’s on the hallway.

Both of them stopped, Jon furrowing his brows in light confusion and Satin responding with nothing but a strange combination between an apologetic bow of his head and a coy smile completing the glimmer in his eyes.

“Lord Commander,” he hummed and judging by the silence that followed, Jon realized he had no plans to be the one to initiate an explanation.

“Morning, Satin,” Jon breathed out, giving a short nod in response. “Slept well?”

“A bit too well, my Lord. It seems that you have beaten me to waking up.”

“Don’t worry about it. Go eat now; we’re short on food this morning.”

With yet another nod, Satin gracefully whirled on his heel and silently trotted toward the exit. Jon kept a lingering gaze on his back, though only for a few mere moments, and took only a few extra steps before prompting himself at Daenerys’ door.

A knock followed and then yet another, only to be certain that she’d hear it should she still be sleeping.

That thought was immediately debunked by the sound of rushing steps and the door which soon opened. It truly dawned on him how early it was when he noticed Daenerys was not in her usual day attire just yet, clogging his throat with a small lump.

“Jon,” she breathed out and, much to his surprise, a bright smile lit up her features. “You’re up early. Come in. I just need a moment to try and tame my hair.”

She opened the door for him to enter.

The room was mostly bare, an indication she had not brought much and she had only unpacked what she needed on a daily basis.

She gestured to one of the chairs by the fireplace before picking up a brush, beginning to run it through her silvery locks. His steps barely made a sound as he cruised into the chamber, leaving the door slightly open behind, just for the sake of dodging the likelihood of someone wrongly assuming anything. He slouched into the chair, the pleasant warmth of the fire caressing his frozen hands and thawing the cold out of his skin.

When her hair was soft and smooth, she braided a portion of it into a crown around her head.

Sinking into the chair by the crackling fire, he found himself strangely fascinated as he observed this ritual. It felt intimate in an odd way, which left him both dazed and a little bit embarrassed.

It was so easy to get lost in a sight so lovely when all he’d known the past few years was the crooked teeth of builders, and rangers, and stewards, or the hardened looks received from people of the likes of Alliser Thorne. A flower amid hills of snow would always stand out.

While adding the finishing touches to her hair, she started speaking.

“Now, I assume you are not here simply to watch me get ready for the day, are you?”

There was a tug at the corners of his lips, head bowing lightly as she shifted around and assumed her own seat in the other chair. It seemed that she had picked on the awkwardness of the situation and made it into something lighter.

“No. Those weren’t my intentions.” He tangled his fingers above his knees, fidgeting them lightly – an excuse, likely; an excuse to keep his eyes away. “I just wanted to let you know that there’s been a misunderstanding in the kitchens. Food this morning is scarce, so I wager it would be in your best interests to eat earlier today while there is still anything decent left.”

“Oh. Thank you for your warning, but I will just wait for the next meal. I have never been good with eating in the morning anyway. Let the men eat their fill first. They are the ones working all day, after all.”

Jon was suddenly aware this would be the opportune moment to depart. Alas, he was still seated, absorbed in the same ponders that had been on his mind for a while. Then, he decided to break free of their intricate webs and simply blurt it out.

 “And I’ve decided to extend your stay at Castle Black.” Finally looking toward her, he gave a faint nod, pressing his lips in a thin line. “There’s no limit this time. We cannot possibly know how long it will take until we settle on a good strategy – or when it will come to fruition.”

She stared at him in utter bewilderment for a moment’s worth, her face shifting with the shadows of genuine gratitude.

“Thank you, Jon,” she said. “Hopefully my stay will not be too long. I long to see my dragons again.”

“Do not let this deter you from trying to read through our books as fast as possible,” he expressed, a lighter statement.

Daenerys laughed, but she was quick to resume her composure.

“My attempts shall be as restless, surely,” she recounted.

“I will take my leave now.” He rose and so did she, a gesture of curtsy. “Let this be the beginning of a fruitful alliance.”

When he found her eyes, there was a foreign glisten in the fields of blooming violet that hitched his breathing in his throat. All lightness had died out and for a still moment, thick silence reigned and her intense gaze scorched at his.

“Let it,” she mused, her voice low and distant.

He barely willed himself away from that spot, but he eventually managed to do it. With a parting bow of his head, he walked out and closed the door behind him. A deep breath flooded his lungs and, as he stared to walk through the corridor, he realized that with the situation with the Free Folk and Daenerys on his hands, everything in his future seemed more difficult than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> definitely not as eventful as the last one, but it was a necessary piece to show jon's stance at the moment. every single thing that happens is necessary, actually, so nothing is going to waste.
> 
> now, on to the elephant in the room: due to the intense reactions to chapter eight, i've decided to make a double update. what this exactly means, i'm not entirely sure as of yet. i could post chapter ten as well either later tonight, either tomorrow. either way, it will be out tomorrow at most.
> 
> once again, i appreciate the support and please, please, stay nice and civil in the comments. everything will get cleared up next chapter. (:


	10. Warm Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys receives a troubling letter from Meereen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter ten is up and i don't have much to say about it. it's all one big moment which essentially marks the beginning of the core of the story.
> 
> sorry i couldn't get around to answering some comments on the previous chapter; it got a bit overwhelming.

**DAENERYS VII**

Despite the warranty of a now-extended stay, Daenerys was decided to heed Jon’s advice and to get through as many books as possible. Therefore, she ended up either tucked away behind the walls of the library, either isolated in the confinement of her own chambers, hastily skimming through various lectures.

It had officially been around five days after the month she had been initially granted.

Since that one particular night with Satin, the most the steward had done when in her room had been to share stories of his various past whereabouts.

Although a hollow craving was still deeply gnawing at her innards, she needed to be constantly reminded of where she was. Dany did not particularly have a care for the watchmen’s celibacy vows – not because she wasn’t sensible enough to care, but because they all seemed beyond ridiculous and futile.

As such, she geared her attention toward her goals, toward the task ahead, trying to push through hours of lectures in hopes of finding any scribbles on that accursed horn. She knew it would all be for naught if Euron’s horn couldn’t be taken care of and she foolishly hoped the answers she needed would be written down somewhere.

After one particularly sleepless night, haunted by the pained screeches of her dragons and the manic laughter of a pirate madman, Daenerys found it very difficult to focus on the meeting with Jon in his study.

He was telling her about a certain Horn of Winter, having managed to bring her a book speaking of it she had not read yet.

When a knock on the door interrupted them, she almost hoped it could serve as an excuse for her retreat to find something to soothe at her headache. An unknown steward stepped in through the crack in the door, offering a polite nod. Then, his attention shifted toward her.

“A scroll came for the lady,” he said.

Bewilderment must have been quite vividly painted in her figure. _A message?_ No one was supposed to know she was there. The Lord Commander had agreed to keep it under wraps and the black brothers did not journey away from Castle Black frequently enough to let the news loose. Though, she supposed, it was an inevitability that would brew from slurped gossip shared with the whores of Mole’s Town.

“Where did you get this?” asked Jon.

“I don’t know, my Lord, it was just,” he shifted awkwardly, stirring Dany’s impatience, “a small, cloaked person. Ran away after dropping it at my feet and said to get it to the Dragon Queen.”

Dany’s stomach was churning with grim anticipation. She glanced toward Jon, who fortunately gave her the signal she needed. She hastily rose from her seat and stole the parchment from the steward’s hands.

“Thank you,” she said, already distracted as she inspected it. There was no sigil sealed into it; only a dull blankness.

In her focus, she heard Jon’s steps as he stood up and moved around the desk.

“Does it say who it is from?” he questioned.

Daenerys shook her head and cleared her throat, “I suppose I shall see inside.”

She opened the letter and hastily read it over. She visibly froze but forced herself to read it once more despite the horror of it.

_My Queen,_

_It is not with good those that I write to you, though by the time this parchment reaches you, perhaps we all will have found the miraculous solution to all of our problems. Days after your departure, Euron Greyjoy has started publicly executing those that are still loyal to you. Several of his own ships and men have been burned down by Drogon, who seems to be fighting against whatever accursed magic has bent his will. He is currently keeping them locked under the Great Pyramid, which tells me he does not possess the control to fly them across the sea as of yet._

_Lord Varys is making attempts at communicating with Doran Martell about a possible alliance. Should he succeed, another message following this one shall follow suit. This is all why I must insist that you remain where you are, Daenerys. I know it must be tempting to try and take matters into your hands, but it is far too dangerous. A lot of blood has been spilt and a lot more will follow._

_The only knowledge we have gathered on Euron’s horn is that it appears to be of Valyrian origins. We are not allowed to venture too far away from the ironborn keeping watch on the Great Pyramid, so research is quite difficult, I’m afraid._

_Stay where you are. Stay safe._

_\- Tyrion_

She read the letter over and over again, naively hoping the words would change before her very eyes and become something else, anything else.

Faces of those who supported her appeared in her mind, were they all dead now? The slaves who had ever only known pain and toil all their lives, now finally they were free but had that freedom had only led to death? Everyone who had been brave enough to fight against the Second Sons. Had she led them all to their deaths by the hand of Euron Greyjoy?

“—Dany?” she heard Jon say.

Dany stood frozen to the spot, the numbness she had felt at first slowly started being replaced by a sadness too great to comprehend. A guilt too heavy for her already burdened shoulders to bear.

“This is my fault.” The words slipped from her mouth, it was the only thing she could comprehend, the only conclusion left to draw.

“What?”

Her eyes were fixed on a spot on a wall, distant and crumbled.

For the first time, Daenerys had almost been silenced. The fire usually burning bright inside her had been doused with water. All those lives lost and for what? They had been killed because they had believed in her and all she had done was leave them to die.

“I should not have left,” she said, her voice a ghostly murmur.

If she had stayed, she would have died, but at least if she had died, her people might still be living, no one else would have had to sacrifice their very breath for her. With her death, surely they would have forgotten their faith in her, they would have accepted Euron Greyjoy.

“Dany,” Jon sighed, “what is happening?”

“I need to go back.”

She dropped the letter to the ground and simply marched toward the door, letting it heavily sway in its hinges behind her as she wobbled her way across the hallways. Every step felt like it sent bolts of ache straight to her heart.

Back in her room, she quickly started packing some of her things into a wooden chest they had brought. Her movements were as frantic as the thoughts swirling around in her mind. They were only half-thoughts; she did not let herself finish a thought before starting a new one. This way there was no room for changing her mind. If Dany could take a step back, she would see how impulsive and stupid she was being, but as always she let her heart rule over her head.

Her hands were shaking as she stuffed a dress down in the chest. She looked around wildly for the rest of her things. In her madness, she had forgotten about closing her door, so her gaze was greeted by the sight of Jon standing in the threshold, the parchment she had dropped clipped between his fingers by his side.

Her violet eyes stung with tears but she refused to let them fall. A Queen never wept in front of anyone, she could not show weakness, not in such a blatant manner. It was a lesson she had learned by the Dothraki.

“I need someone to gather my men,” she rasped out. “I—We need to leave as soon as possible.”

“Dany,” his voice was even and firm, clearly to aid her out of this daze. Despite that, she was still trapped in it.

Then she heard his steps and his fingers laced around her hand on the wooden chest, gently moving it away from the object. At the contact, she seemed to finally focus on Jon. Her eyes were not cloudy anymore, she was not leagues away in her mind, now she was solely focused on the man in front of her.

“Stop for a moment and think of what you’re doing. Please.” He released the grasp of her hand, though Dany felt herself wishing he hadn’t. He glanced toward the letter in his hand. “I apologize for reading it, but it was the quickest way to get an idea of what’s going on.”

Daenerys let out a single bitter chortle, “Do not worry over such a matter, Jon.”

“You can’t do this,” he began, his voice considerably softer, as silken and meek as the dark orbs that looked down at her in a silent plead. “Assuming you’d even make it back to Meereen, what do you plan on doing there? Ask Euron Greyjoy to stop? He’ll kill you on the spot, you know it. You’re of greater use to your people here, but alive, than you’d be as a pile of ashes, scorched by your own dragons.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words got stuck in her throat. What would she even have said? That she planned to storm the Greyjoy stronghold by herself? That getting slaughtered by Euron might spare the lives of her people? She knew it would not

Jon tore his eyes away and slowly succumbed toward the edge of her bed, sitting crookedly on its edge as his fingers started fiddling with each other again.

“I know how you’re feeling,” he said absently.

“I was stuck here when news arrived of my father’s death. He was dead, my brother was marching to war, my home was burned down, and my sisters were captives in King’s Landing – all while I was stuck in this damn place. I took a horse and I just ran right through those gates. Gods…” A dry snort left him and his head hung so low that the only thing Daenerys could see was the tangled mass of dark curls adorning it. “I didn’t even know where Robb was. I don’t know where the hell I was going. My friends stopped me. The day after, I thought this over the first time and realized how lucky I was they came after me. It didn’t matter if the Watch caught and executed me for desertion. But what if Robb had won? What kind of ruler would he have been with a deserter and an oathbreaker at his side? Would I have put him in the situation where he would’ve had to choose between tarnishing his reputation and executing his half-brother?”

“You were grateful for their intervention then, are you still?” Dany queried. “Knowing what you know now, can you look me in the eyes and confidently say you made the right choice that night?” It was important to her. If she were to listen to Jon, she needed to know regret would not haunt her for the rest of her life.

He looked up at her, abiding to her request, looking her in the eye, though the words that spilled off his lips were far from being the ones she wanted to hear.

“There is no right choice,” he hushed, head shaking faintly. “Whatever I would’ve done, someone would’ve lost something. After he died, I blamed myself for not leaving then, of course. I kept telling myself I should’ve been there, maybe I could’ve told him, ‘Don’t do it, you idiot. Don’t marry that girl. You have a duty, you need to watch over your people.’ But I knew him. He wouldn’t have listened to me, he was too stubborn, too keen on listening to his heart.”

Dany’s stomach felt heavy, processing his words as a conclusion. But then he continued.

“Then I started wondering – what if I could’ve done something there, that night? I would’ve probably gotten myself killed in the process too. Tywin Lannister wouldn’t have let his plan fail because a bastard from the North would have been there. If I died there, Alliser Thorne would’ve become Lord Commander. He would’ve isolated the Free Folk from the North, they would be dying and joining the Night’s King army as we speak. He would’ve doomed us all.” It was his first time vividly stating out his intentions with the Wildlings, though she doubted she had the strength to register this kind of information. “Whatever you do,” he sighed out, seemingly fully aware that the harshness of his frankness could end up deterring her instead of making her comply, “you will end up with regrets. Stay here, you’ll ask yourself what you could’ve done to help your people. Go there and in your last moments before Euron Greyjoy takes your life, you’ll ask yourself if you hadn’t made a great mistake. There’s no right choice.”

“How am I supposed to live with this?” she almost choked out. She felt as helpless as she had when she had smothered her husband after unknowingly sacrificing their child. When she had stepped into those flames, she was not certain if she was ever going to step out again. “I told my people that I would fight every enemy we might encounter. How do I fight the enemy if it’s inside me? How do I fight guilt and pain?”

“I don’t think you can fight them,” he spoke silently, for once unable to keep his voice even and detached. “Pain and guilt always win. But you have to live with them regardless.”

With his words coiling around her mind, her eyes met his, his hues dark as night, but holding so much warmth and concern, so much so she did not dread the fall of night as before.

Plenty of thoughts unfolded that moment.

She became certain that if night could only hold what his eyes seemed to possess, she would welcome it as a dear old friend every day.

Without thinking her hand moved towards him, it did so of old habit, no thoughts controlling the movement. Her hand reached for him, longing to fuel the flame burning in the far corner of her heart, but it stilled mid-air before it dropped down at her side once more.

Jon was not hers to touch, not hers to draw comfort from in her selfish ways. He was not Satin, he was not Irri, he was not Daario. He was becoming something new, something she did not understand, something part of her feared but also desperately longed for. She drowned the feelings with the hopelessness she felt.

“It hurts, Jon,” she said hollowly.

“I know,” he replied, not a trace of fallacious intent in his voice.

“I have to protect them. The more time passes, more of my people will die. Another day here might be another life lost.” The tone of her voice was soft albeit slightly desperate. She was running out of reasons to go. Dany had almost conceded, she knew deep down he was right, but it felt wrong to hide at the Wall when those loyal to her suffered.

Where she had failed, he was succeeding.

His hand rose and then his fingers wreathed her hand, his fingertips gently pressed into her palm. He guided it upward, in-between the two of them, albeit with a certain hesitance. As his eyes sheepishly found hers, she knew that this would be the last insistence he’d carry forward. His other hand moved to cover hers, barely, almost like a linger rather than a touch.

“Aye. People die every day,” he spoke simply. His voice was clement, but the fact that there was no innocence behind his certainty and, rather, a personal experience made of loss, and death, and destruction, also made it somewhat grim. “But more people keep on living. They need you more.”

And then, the pain did not relent. But something was different, she knew that instantly.

Pain usually slowed her heart rate, the pain would be throbbing regardless of its beats, but it was different now.

Standing still, she felt her heart race as if she were watching her dragons fight, as if she were burning down cities freeing slaves in the process. Her hand shifted from resting peacefully in his grasp to gripping his hand firmly. As her eyes fixated on the man in front of him, she immediately knew what Jon had done.

“You’ve changed my mind.” Silly words, some might say, but to the Mother of Dragons, those words meant everything. She was a stubborn creature, full of flame and impulses, never one to think twice about things if the path seemed clear and straightforward.

She had changed her mind before, everyone had at some point in their lives, but this was different. She had not seen Jon as a close friend nor an adviser, he had been an ally, one she liked for once, but nothing more than that. Now he had her bowing to the logic of his words, his touch had brought her back twice from the black hole she sometimes found herself falling deeper into.

Her lilac eyes were unyielding as she stared into the dark abyss of his, noting how they held a rare understanding within them. She was used to people’s support, but it was rarely given to her along with understanding. Her life was some most would never understand, but as Jon continued showing her more sides of himself, she finally began to believe she was not alone in this wretched world.

“I didn’t want to change your mind,” he explained silently, “Only you can change your mind.”

What an odd comment, Dany realized, even in this dark frenzy. But its significance quickly took on.

“You speak as if it’s a curse to change another’s mind,” she began, “but I assure you it is not. You made a compelling case, I thought about it and decided to change my plans. I am not holding you personally accountable for the consequences of my decision, Jon. I would never do that.”

She was still gripping his hand tightly, drawing comfort from even such an innocent touch. When Jon’s gaze slipped to the door, she fought the desire to grip his chin and force his eyes back on her. She knew what a look towards a door usually ended with.

“I should leave,” he sighed out, slipping his hand away and leaving her fingers feeling hollow and cold. “I have my men waiting on me for a duty.”

Then the moment ended.

Jon let go of her hand and turned away from her. She felt weary again, alone once more. She slowly lowered her hand back down to her side, her eyes gazing at his back when he suddenly stopped.

“Will you be alright?” he questioned meekly.

The surprise was clear on her features. It was rare people asked her that, usually people pretended to know how she felt like or they imagined she would rise above it effortlessly. It was nice being treated as the human being she was, thus she was slightly touched by his concern, having it warrant a ghost of a smile, a slight curl of the lips but nothing more.

“Yes,” she answered, though she was still struggling to believe it herself. “I always am.”

When he left, she stood in silence for a long moment.

She could still feel his touch on her skin, feeling pleasantly warm for once since entering the North. She looked down at her hand before her gaze dragged itself from the fair skin to the now closed door. She felt a familiar burning in the pit of her stomach, a yearning she knew only too well, one she brushed off as a desire for comfort and company.

She was captured by deep thoughts when the noise of knuckles against wood filled the room.

“Come in,” she said and watched as Satin slipped inside the room. Her immediate thought was that perhaps he would be willing to help her soothe this loneliness again.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” he said. “The Lord Commander thought you would like your meal early.”

In one moment, she looked at the young man, handsome and bright-eyed, but she felt absolutely nothing.

The flame which had been there before died out which only left her feeling confused. She had longed for company a moment ago, now she found herself wishing Jon’s steward would leave her be with her sorrow.

 _Jon._ She thought back to how he had held her hand, offering comfort. She thought of his kindness, how rare it was in a world of endless cruelty.

And then suddenly, the yearning returned.

The fire was lit once more.

“Daenerys?” Her name being called pulled her out of her derailing thoughts and she looked at Satin a bit wide-eyed.

It was not Daenerys she wanted to be. She wanted to be Dany.

Only one person called her that, the man who had just left her chambers to return to his duties.

The more she looked at Satin, the more she seemed to understand what she was feeling. Out of all the men at Castle Black, she had chosen the young one with black, curly hair and dark eyes, one who resembled Jon Snow.

He reached out his hand, but Daenerys stepped away from his touch, shielding herself from it.

“You should do what the Lord Commander sent you here for,” she murmured. And after a while or arranging the room, Jon’s steward left without a word, unlike the other times when she had welcomed his stories and touches.

The darkness soon fell upon Castle Black.

She read through more pages of the thick book on her desk, she flickered through it absent-mindedly, only looking for any mention of the threat that was marching in the North or any words about dragons or the will-binding horn. When her candle burned down, she got up to retrieve another one from the drawer, but a silent knock on her door distracted her. She remembered how she had allowed Satin to visit despite her better judgment.

At the opening of the door, the intent in his eyes was clear.

“I do not wish for company tonight,” Dany said suddenly, surprising herself in the process. It was true, she knew that much, yet a nagging longing kept reigning in her stomach.

“I understand,” he replied and, with that, Dany knew that what had happened a few nights prior would never happen again. He bowed lightly and then left.

She was about to return to her books when she heard voices further down the corridor.

She peeked through the small crack only to see Jon standing there.

A rush of feeling flooded through her. She realized she had just turned down company, claiming she wanted to be alone, but as her eyes settled on the familiar frame of the Lord Commander, she immediately yearned after _his_ company.

His dark eyes had haunted her all day, the echo of his comforting words uttered with such an unusual warmth had caused his words to replay themselves in her mind all day. The touch of his hand had lingered too, a sweet reminder of the moment they had shared. All these wayward thoughts only confirmed what she had already suspected earlier.

She had not desired company to fill in her loneliness.

It was _his_ company she craved above all else.

It had always been.

And, somehow, she had foolishly not realized it was so, pitting this dormant need on the acre loneliness of her months of travel.

 _Oh,_ Daenerys thought, her mind processing the buzz of the words exchanged between Jon and his company as idle noise. _Oh, how have I not known?_

Had she ever been in this position before? Daenerys craved something but she was not sure how to get it.

Jon was Lord Commander and as far as she had seen, he held honor in high regard. She had already opposed the laws of the Night’s Watch simply with her presence at Castle Black, by luring one of his men into her bed. She was certain if they found she was being drawn to their leader in such a way, it would only agitate them further.

She was so lost in her observance of him, she did not observe Jon approach her door until he was standing right in front of her.

“You came back,” she breathed out. Despite finding herself treading dangerous waters, the curve of her lips into a faint smile was automatic, far beyond her control at this point. _A dangerous sign._

When he smiled, Daenerys instinctively knew the battle was already lost.

“I thought you’d be sleeping,” he replied.

“I doubt any sleep will come tonight. My time is spent better reading.”

“I hope Satin’s tasks haven’t kept you awake. I came to see if everything was in order.”

“Everything is well,” she reassured, finding herself unable to lower her gaze, which basked in the comforting sight of his warm eyes. “I am well.” Somehow, his mere presence now had lifted the thick layer of grey clouds previously hovering above her.

“Good,” he said simply. “I shall leave you be.” When he turned around with a dip of his head, Dany fought the urge to grab his arm and stop him. And as she watched him stroll down the hallway, there was only one thought left to spare.

 _I am a dragon,_ she told herself, but the gallop of her heart shared the story of a giddy young woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. hey. heyyyy. see that "pining" tag for the story? yeah, that's for dany. this is to those that wrongly assumed the last chapter meant jon is falling in love with her. we'll get there, but for now, the feelings are mostly on dany's side. 
> 
> to conclude: dany didn't realize that she's actually been thirsting for jon the whole time, blamed it as a general thing, and rolled with it because satin looks like jon a lil'. i don't really know (or care) if it makes sense emotionally, but i liked it as a plot point, so it happened. it was incredibly important to happen so that dany can really see the difference and understand it's ONE SPECIFIC PERSON she wants.
> 
> it's over now. this skeleton will be buried again later and shitstorms will ensure. 
> 
> any kind of engaging is appreciated still, especially support and nice feedback.
> 
> next update will be on saturday, the 28th.


	11. A Child's Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion makes a discovery. Jon faces a difficult decision regarding the Wildlings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya! update time, yay! 
> 
> i feel like i've neglected jon a little bit, so there's quite a lot happening with him this chapter. you will find one of my original canon divergences in here and some puzzle pieces being arranged. remember, every single scene depicted counts for something!
> 
> happy reading. (:

**TYRION II**

He reached for the full jug of wine resting on the table, almost tantalizingly, _inviting_ him to it.

But he stopped, hearing Missandei sigh.

“Anything bothering you, Missandei?” murmured Tyrion, resuming his movement, picking the jug up, and letting the crimson contents flow into his goblet.

“I don’t believe this to be wise, my Lord,” she commented, though her voice sounded disheartened.

“You will soon learn that it is not the wise and the chaste who live to their faraway bitter ends.”

With that being said, he set the jug bag down and twirled around, an index finger tapping at the embellished goblet in his hand. His eyes found Missandei’s frame, sat on a nearby chair and fiddling with her fingers in her lap. The nervousness was quite easy to pick off. It wasn’t unwarranted, but she had done an excellent job at keeping it at bay so far.

“You are worried,” he remarked and then her eyes found his.

“Of course I am,” she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We don’t know how the Queen is faring. We don’t even know if she is alive.”

“I thought we’ve come to terms with this,” he murmured, taking a generous amount of wine into his mouth.

“I thought so too. But after—” she paused, her eyes scanning the chamber for confirmation that no one was prying. “—after the raven Lord Varys sent to Dorne, I wondered for a moment if it’s not all for naught per chance.”

“By the Seven, Missandei,” deadpanned Tyrion, a twitch at the corner of his mouth, “I have never taken you for one to lose faith in Daenerys.”

“I have _not_ ,” she replied determinedly, confirming to him it was all nothing but a passing moment of hopelessness.

Before the conversation could take root into another direction, the walls of the chamber quaked with the booming screeches of a dragon, tearing at the skies right above them. Tyrion hastily set his goblet to the side and, with Missandei at his side, rushed toward the balcony. Above, one of those mighty creatures was already fading into the horizons.

“He released one,” stated Missandei, eyes glued in awe to the dissolving sight.

“Which one is it?”

“Viserion. He has always been the gentlest one.”

“The one _easier to control_ too, I wager.”

After Drogon’s rampage which had resulted in the burning of some of his ships and some other forms of damage to the port, Euron Greyjoy hadn’t let the dragons out of their confinement beneath the pyramid very often. It was a great risk to take.

_But then why release one now?_

The brief silence that had befallen was shattered as a tumultuous avalanche of hoots clashing with the ground surfaced. Below them, tens of ironborn seemed to be riding away, the Pirate King himself positioned at the front of the grouping. Some of the Unsullied were there too, a result of Grey Worm having left orders to preserve their lives and heed Euron’s word.

As they rode further, one final sight truly sparked Tyrion’s intrigue. By a nearby rundown building was a child, staring intently up at him. A _child._

 _Varys,_ he immediately thought.

“Pardon me,” he mumbled absently, retreating from the balcony.

“Be careful,” called Missandei after him and he stopped if only for a moment, letting a brief smile display his gratitude toward her concern.

He then exited the chamber and attempted to descend the many levels of the Great Pyramid as inconspicuously as possible, not letting his hurry slip through. After all, they were grateful Euron had found them more useful alive than dead, as well as more useful sane than locked away in chains.

Euron was not a fool. He knew their allegiances would never lie with him. But he also knew they preserved their lives enough to not protest when he had proposed, likely out of the desire to play a _game,_ that they become his advisers instead.

Once outside, Tyrion followed the child, who easily slipped through crowds and led him away with careful steps. Even though his nervousness was flared, worried he might run into Victarion or some other crazed iron born, the path had apparently been carefully chosen.

After a few moments of walking, he turned a corner, Varys’ presence blooming in his sight.

Of course, Tyrion’s first instincts were of _revolt._ Tossing another careful glance over his shoulder, he rushed over to the eunuch’s side.

“I know I may have nagged you for months straight that I do not have much care left for my life, but I did not expect you to take these words _seriously_ ,” he sneered lowly. “What are we doing here? Last time I have checked, this was the iron born armory. It should be heavily guarded.” Once those words came through, the realization that it actually _wasn’t_ struck him abruptly. “—Why is it not guarded?”

“Oh, it is,” said Varys. “Not _now,_ of course. But it usually is.”

Tyrion’s eyes narrowed.

“What have you done?”

“Worry not about such things. Simply know I have led them away. As I have led Euron and his men away to test a thought that has been bothering me for a while.”

“Euron took one of the dragons,” reminded Tyrion. “He wouldn’t have done that for a good reason. What have you done, Varys?”

“Word may have arrived that Yunkai has sent its army our way. A suggestion may have been made that it would be wise for the first strike to be ours.”

Tyrion gaped for a brief moment, twisting and turning the words. He frankly didn’t know whether to be appalled or to _congratulate_ him. In the end, the high stakes and the rather big implications did win over.

“You made up a false attack to test a theory?” Varys simply shrugged. Tyrion was hesitant to continue, but the question was burning on his tongue. “What theory?”

“Help me move this boulder away.”

Both of them took hold of the innermost side of the boulder and channeled a muscle-straining vigor in order to roll it away from the entrance. Fortunately for them, it was not awfully heavy. Even if it had been, this was not the reason Tyrion stopped ceased his motion, why a deep scowl had carved its way into his features.

His hands, roughened up by the rocky surface, slowly moved away from the boulder as he perplexedly gazed at the charred cadaver in the middle of the armory.

* * *

 

**JON VII**

“A child?” queried Daenerys, stepping away from the doorway and allowing him to slip into her chamber.

“Yes,” confirmed Jon, turning to face her as she gently fit the door closed into the threshold. “I had some men look into the identity of the one who delivered that parchment. It appears to have been a child.”

“It must have been one of Varys’ little birds.” A small frown found its way onto Jon’s features and she seemed to have picked on his confusion, for she added, “The old Master of Whisperers. He uses children to pass information across the realm and beyond. They are well taken care of, that was the first concern I have looked into.”

 _The Master of Whisperers._ The same man who had either contributed, either stood idly by as Jon Arryn’s and Ned Stark’s had unfolded.

“He serves you now?” questioned Jon, unable to hide his disbelief.

“I have been told Varys was the one who helped orchestrate my mother’s escape from King’s Landing during the Rebellion. It seems without him, I would have never been born. My mother, despite being with child, would have been brutally murdered along with the rest of my family that horrible night.” There was a sigh that fell off her lips then. “Yet I did not trust him at first. I mean, he did try to kill me once on the orders of Robert Baratheon by sending an assassin to murder me.”

There was nothing he could offer that could be anywhere remotely near a proper response. Jon had suspected Daenerys Targaryen’s life couldn’t have been a pleasant one, but she seemed to be speaking so freely of murder and assassins he could not help but wonder what horrors may have befallen her in the frailest dawn of her years.

“I see,” he breathed out simply, gaze darting absently toward a nearby table. It was a hazard of books, and scrolls, and parchments, likely the result of her ceaseless hours of trying to decipher a resolve to her dire situation. “I wager you have not made much progress with your research?”

When his glance nested on her figure again, she tugged the thin cloak protecting her from the indoor chills around her chest tighter. The glimpses of dishearten were vivid in her eyes.

“No, I’m afraid.” He felt a perhaps unreasonable surge of guilty and pity. He was already offering her plenty, but in his mind, usefulness would’ve actually been aiding her contour a proper plan. “But I have yet to skim through every single book in your library, have I not?”

Her chin dipped upward, her eyes glistened with stubborn persistence, and her lips hooked in lambent intent. Like the heat of a flame, it coiled around him and elicited a small smile of his own, albeit one dead before it even properly formed.

It had been several days since the incident with the letter, which continued to haunt him still.

Jon had found himself on the edge when it came to Daenerys, often wondering what her priorities were, putting in balance the number of goals she was meant to juggle with. She thrived for the throne, he knew that. Likewise, she was fighting a war with Euron Greyjoy. And now, she had pledged her forces to the fight against the Others as well.

Her motivations had been a blur, one that had hastily dissipated when she had broken down over the deaths of her people, ready to throw herself into the flame of her own dragons if only that could grant them life. And it had been at that time, when he had clasped her hand in his, when he had forgotten all about those dragons and had focused solely on guiding a lost soul away from the wrath of the kraken.

She was staring up at him in silence, developing a moment that felt encased in a safe haven against the tides of time – ethereal and disconnected. All he could feel were the pleasant flutters of a foreign serenity, the warmth of a crackling fire that felt homely and nurturing, easily melting through the cracks of his iron walls.

He felt at peace.

It was like this every time they exchanged words and shared a space, talking about lands and lives stranger to the other and responsibilities Jon hadn’t been able to draw understanding over from anyone else. And this made him feel lighter.

A mellow intensity boiled in the lavender seas of her eyes and he soon found his skin tingling, his chest heavy with the suffocating sizzle of the sparks that seemed to agitatedly tremble between them, making even this respectable proximity seem like a lot.

His gaze dipped to the ground sheepishly, torn off in fear of allowing it to turn into insolence.

“Well, I certainly wish the best of luck in your endeavors,” he said hoarsely, offering a faint nod and hesitatingly turning away.

“And I to yours,” she responded, followed by what sounded like a tormented sigh.

The first step forward was slow, numb even, but once set in motion, he stormed past her, a hand clinging to the door’s handle so that it closed gently behind him as he disappeared through the threshold. 

* * *

 

“Jon,” called Grenn urgently, barging through the door of his study without much of a care for announcing his entrance. “You need to come. There’s been a big problem.”

“What problem?”

“I didn’t really understand much of it. Pyp sent me after you with barely any explanation. But… something about the Wildlings escaping?”

“— _Escaping?_ ”

Jon felt his innards twist into tight knots, but that did not falter the rush in which he bolted from his seat, tossed the heavy mantle on his shoulders, and followed after Grenn outside into the courtyard. A handful of black donned men were gathered around, grouped against two others who seemed to be on the receiving end of an intense scolding.

“What is happening here?” demanded Jon, only afterwards managing to notice Tormund and Grunell among them. _Seven hells,_ he thought. _It must have been those other two again._

Edd opened his mouth to speak, but Tormund cut him off.

“Hanrolf and Lok,” he scoffed. “They ain’t _here_ anymore.”

“How does this just happen?” Jon bit sharply, his head wheeling toward the two posted guards receiving their seemingly well-deserved share of reprimands. “Where were you two when this happened? How did they _escape?_ ”

“I-I don’t,” quivered one of the men, “I don’t know, m’lord. Wildlings can climb, you know? They must have watched us and—”

“Knives are missing from the kitchen,” stated Pyp. “They threatened you, did they not?”

Jon’s eyes shut tightly, his head falling backwards in utter exasperation. If it happened at night, they could have easily gotten around and stolen anything they needed. The Free Folk had been forced to adjust to stealth, after all.

Some idle arguing was going on while he pondered, but he figured that prying for more information at a time like this was futile.

“Are any of the horses missing?” asked Jon, trying to contain the uneasiness stemming from a future where Alliser Thorne and his acolytes would find out about this incident. _Another reason to want my head._

“No, there are not,” answered Edd.

“Good. This must been we can catch up to them.” He turned to Tormund, stepping toward him. “Tormund, if you know where they are…” He caught the other man’s gaze insistently. “I need you to tell me. They will not be killed. You have my word.” There was a slight hesitance when voicing that, expecting for his past as a _turncloak_ and a traitor among the Free Folk to make Tormund burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Alas, he did not.

Tormund pondered the request in complete seriousness and then spoke, “I know where they are. Some place in Mole’s Town.”

Jon nodded, gratitude seeping through this plain gesture.

“We’ll pursue them together.”

“Must you go, Jon?” muttered Pyp.

“I don’t see how else we are supposed to explain to the people of Mole’s Town why we are not killing them on the spot. It was my decision to let them roam freely. I should be the one with the explanations.”

With a defeated sigh, Pyp nodded and then everyone scattered in preparations. Horses were fetched and warmer clothes were thrown on. When Jon started arranging the saddle on his horse’s back, he heard the crumpled noise of footsteps in the snow. Turning his head, he found Daenerys.

“Something happened, has it not?” she questioned, her voice hollow and disappointed.

“Two of the Wildlings managed to run away last night,” he explained. “Tormund says they are in Mole’s Town.”

“And you are going after them.”

He ceased with the clippings and bindings of the saddle, spinning around wholly and coming to stand in front of her. She bore an expression not that easy to decipher, but there was something foreign and difficult to define waltzing along the crevices of her face. Sadness? More disappointment? Weariness?

“Aye, I am,” he confirmed, if only out of the foolish hope she would offer an explanation. All that arrived was a curl of the corners of her lips, dipping into cheeks tainted by the rosiness of cold shrills curled around her bones. “Do you wish to come too?” he suddenly asked, but immediately regretted it. He’d simply assumed perhaps she found it far too lonely between Castle Black’s walls to be bearable.

But that was quickly drafted as he detected genuine surprise in her features, mixed with the amusement of the snicker that rolled off her tongue.

“No, Jon,” she replied heartily, her head shaking. “You are leaving to tend to an important duty, are you not? I have no place to be there.”

“Oh,” he heaved, slightly uncomfortably. “I thought you—I thought you would have relished in a change of scenery.”

“I would,” she admitted with a longing sigh. “But not quite like this. Ah, Ghost!”

Jon’s brows furrowed. His head barely turned to the side when he glimpsed the direwolf scooting closer by his side. Daenerys was quick to gracefully crouch down and start raking her fingers through the snowy fur, grinning from one ear to another and muttering some things Jon could not truly make out.

Not that it mattered.

Tiny snowflakes landed in the embellishments of her silver hair, disappearing completely on its canvas. Another brief rush of warmth bubbled in his stomach as she observed her tending to the direwolf as if he were an old friend.

Then, Ghost turned away and Jon was forced to blink the daze away.

“Edd,” he called out. “You are in charge until I come back.” When he received confirmation, he turned back to Daenerys, who had risen back to a straightened position. He didn’t want any of the men to believe they had liberties to be taken while he was away.

“When would that be?” questioned Daenerys.

“A few weeks,” he answered and her face contorted in frank confusion. He had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to not make his amusement blatant. “A few hours at most. I was joking.”

“You certainly blur the lines on what is to be taken as a joke and not,” she remarked, but there was nothing condemning him in her voice. If the current predicament weren’t so urged and dire, he may have been able to play along and engage in this kind of harmless banter that he had been sorely steering away from even with his friends.

“I will see you soon,” he said and then mounted his horse.

A few minutes later, he was riding through the gate, Tormund, Grenn, Halder, and Pyp together with him.

* * *

 

The journey to Mole’s Town didn’t last more than fifteen minutes at most, granted by the hurry of the horses’ galloping. Tormund did not wish to disclose what had brought the two Wildlings to Mole’s Town, so the likelihood of their tracks being lost was still very much alive.

 _I need to have them back,_ Jon thought. _What kind of Lord Commander am I? I can’t have them escape. I can’t._

He had promised Tormund he would not harm them in a moment of weakness, when all he had to rely on had been the Wildling man. But could he truly do that? They were not brothers of the Night’s Watch, but they had made themselves into runaways. If he chose to leave this unpunished, nothing would stop Thorne and the rest from assuming he was bending the rules for their sake and picking favorites.

But if he were to truce with the Free Folk, he also needed them _alive._

When they reached the town, it seemed as if barely a couple of minutes had flown by – not nearly enough time to step into the tavern that Tormund had pointed toward without doubt blooming in his heart.

He pushed the door open, being greeted by emptiness, save for a few women unhappily wiping the floors and arranging the tables. Needless to say, all eyes turned to them and some flinched, taking a few hesitant steps back.

The one that truly stood out was a brown haired woman with big, blue eyes, who coddled a baby wrapped in layers and layers of fabric at her chest. Her gaze shot right past him.

“Tormund?” she gasped.

Jon’s eyes switched targets, moving toward the Wildling instead, watching as he reluctantly stepped inside. _They know each other._

“Aye,” mumbled the Wildling. “Long time no see, Fren.”

“I thought—I expected Lok.” There was a blend of panic and hostility stirring in her eyes. “Why’re you with them Crows? Where’s Lok? You _filthy_ traitor!”

“Calm down, woman,” snarled Tormund. “Lok and Harnolf are fuckin’ idiots who got us all in deep shit now. We got caught. And _they_ ran away. He was supposed to be here. Why isn’t he?”

“I don’t _know,_ ” the woman hissed, her gaze continuing to switch from Jon to Grenn, to Halder, to Pyp – back and forth, hectically. She clung tighter to the baby, who started to whimper in her arms. “He just isn’t. How should I know?”

“Tormund,” said Jon, feeling his patience running thin and his curiosity reaching a new high. “What is happening?”

Tormund turned around slowly, giving him a thoughtful look, and then approached Fren, who initially pulled away but then allowed his large fingers to slide away some of the blanket off the baby’s face.

“Lok told me his name’s Haramun. He’s Mance’s son.” Jon felt the tension of expectancy freeze in his muscles, his expression rendered blank. “Ya know what happened best, Fren. Tell ‘em. Go on.”

Fren hesitated, but eventually managed to speak up, “I—Dalla gave birth during the battle. I was her wet nurse. Lok was one of the men that had stayed behind at the tents to protect her, but she died after. When word reached a Southern king had attacked, Lok gave me the baby and brought me here. Told me to pretend I was of the mountain clans and ran away and needed shelter.” Her flat voice flared up as she continued, “And he _told_ me he would come back for me and the baby, but it’s been _months!_ ”

A lot of this information was lost on Jon, who was a lot more intent on observing the writhing bundle cocooned in her arms. He didn’t dare step closer, uncertain of Fren’s reaction, but all he could think of was Mance, how he had perished, the arrow jotted in his chest. A motherless and fatherless child born amid a battle and turned into a runaway. _A prince._

“Why does he mean to come back for you?” asked Jon.

“We’re together,” Fren hissed sharply. “Dalla was very dear to me and Mance to him.” _They intend to raise the child together._

“Jon,” he heard Pyp’s voice from over his shoulder. “They must have gotten lost. But they will show up at some point. What are you going to do with them?”

Jon felt a large lump stuck in his throat. He had dreaded the approach of this moment and the longer he stared at the way the baby’s limbs flailed through the blanket, the more knotted his tongue felt.

“They ran away,” he answered, his voice completely devoid of any emotion. _I shall have their heads,_ he wanted to say. He wanted to prove Thorne wrong, that he didn’t care for any of this beyond their alliance. However, Mance’s mercy haunted him, so instead, he found himself saying, “But they are not mine to deliver justice to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the canon divergence was the fate of aemon steelsong (named haramun here since gilly never nursed here). mance got the show treatment and i went a different route for the baby, both of them because i couldn't fit the book plots in the current story, so i just kinda simplified it. still, jon ends up protecting him here as well, just differently. 
> 
> so, anyway, lots of things happened. a lil' bit of drama, a few revelations, some small jonerys moments of goodness. hope that you found it enjoyable. (:
> 
> thank you all for the amazing support toward this story!
> 
> next update is coming out on wednesday, november 1st. and i'm SUPER excited for it.


	12. Half Wildling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys meets Sam and some gossip over Jon awakens something in her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyoooo! hooooly macaroni, this one here is a lengthy ass update! the longest chapter so far, double the size of the previously longest one. and to think dany's pov is all ONE scene.
> 
> anyway, i don't wanna talk too much about it, so just enjoy for now. ;)

**SAM I**

With no more than ten men buzzing through the yard, the voice of the watcher on top of the front walls shouted about an arrival and the gate started opening with a heavy creak.

Sam urged the horse to move through the opening and the animal started walking swiftly, pulling the carriage after it. Although his eyes journeyed throughout the yard, the first familiar face he saw was Edd’s. He felt a content warmth in his bones, telling him that he’d returned home, a feeling he had never known when stepping through the doors of Horn Hill.

“Bloody hell,” exclaimed Edd, stepping out of the way of the horse, which halted at his side. “Sam. You were supposed to be Citadel. What, by the Seven, are you doing here?”

“I left,” he replied simply.

“Left?” Edd repeated, a brow quirking dubiously. “Alright.” He shrugged. “Whatever. Everything is futile, anyway. If you ask me, at least. Was there too much reading even for you?”

“Yes, actually. And not the kind of reading we needed.”

“Did you come on the kingsroad?”

“I did. Rode through Mole’s Town,” Sam breathed out, the deep sense of familiarity of the scenery bringing his lips to a sheepish smile, “but I thought it best to not make a stop. Looked like a snowstorm was approaching.”

“You can read what the weather’s gonna be like now?” Edd was nothing but taunting, endearingly so.

“It’s one of the first things you can learn at the Citadel.” They both smiled and Sam finally realized that he was supposed to climb out of his carriage. He first waddled around the horse, holding his hand out to help Gilly set her feet on the ground too. Only afterwards, he approached Edd and confined him in a tight embrace – a bit too tight, judging by the insistent pats Edd gave to his back. When they pulled back, Edd nodded in Gilly’s direction.

“S’good to see ya too, Gilly. How’s your baby?”

“He’s healthy. And alive. He’s doing really well.” Sam could only hear Gilly’s voice, seeing how his gaze was too busy sweeping across the courtyard. He recognized a few faces, but none familiar enough to grasp interest. After a moment of hesitance, his focus was on Edd again.

“Hey, Edd,” he stuttered through a few rugged breaths, the cold creeping up his spine, “Where’s Jon?”

“He’s not dead if that’s what you’re wondering,” Edd huffed and Sam felt his heart sink for a brief moment. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but it was gloomy enough to take its toll. “He’s out in Mole’s Town for some Wildling fuckin’ bullshit, I dunno… Should be back in a few hours, though. You know he wouldn’t spend the night in their brothel.”

“No,” Sam smiled, smaller, a smile that he mostly kept to himself, “I suppose he wouldn’t.”

“Didn’t you ride past him by any chance?”

“I did not.” And it mildly disappointed him. “He must have went farther from the kingsroad.”

After a while, more familiar faces started pouring in. Several of his friends started aiding in the transportation of his and Gilly’s belongings to their chambers. It wasn’t uneventful, of course. There were a lot of questions, most of which had something to do with how he and Gilly had spent their nights together. He’d grown tired of insisting that nothing happened and that he’d been merely visiting her, during daytime, ever since they arrived at the Citadel.

It was all thanks to the contribution of an old woman, Desmera Hunt, who still valued her allegiance to House Tarly that he had been able to find Gilly and Little Sam a roof above their heads in the first place. Being old, though, it had been a matter of time until she’d perish. Her inheritance went to a distant cousin, an abhorrent Cockshaw who wanted Gilly to pay for her stay with her body. Both of them vehemently refused, of course.

What Sam did enjoy talking about, however, was the beauty of Oldtown. From the Citadel, to the Hightower, to the flowing Honeywine on whose shore stood Desmera Hunt’s home, everything was so idyllic, and different, and colored compared to the morose coldness of the North.

He spent a couple of hours sharing tales of his whereabouts and his excitement was only fueled by the interest the others were taking in his stories.

Then, he retreated to his chambers, where Gilly was awaiting, and the two chatted about their return and where her new home would be while he was unpacking his belongings. He stacked a few books in his arms, announcing that he was heading to the library to store them. Gilly’s eyes widened.

“Did you steal those?” she inquired, dumbfounded.

Sam’s eyes flickered to the pile of books and his head shook vehemently.

“What? No! I asked for permission. There are many books like these ones over here at the Citadel. A place like Castle Black would find better uses for them, I’m sure.” A filthy lie. “I will just… go now.”

Once that clarification was out of the way, he stepped outside.

Judging by the stiffness overtaking his muscles, he assumed that his time in the Reach had lessened his resistance to frost. The sensation was reminiscent of his first time at the Wall, when the nights were long, and sad, and very, very cold. Inside the library, he couldn’t help himself from gently flipping through the books again before sliding them on the shelves.

He got so absorbed in his task, that the other presence in the chamber went by unnoticed – that is, until a simple back step ended in a full body collision which startled him so much he toppled back a few steps, all of the books in his arms flying off and scattering to the floor in a rain of tumultuous thuds.

He couldn’t even adjust his eyes to set on the figure who’d suffered from the impact since most of his attention had been stolen by the book the other person picked up and lifted, readying it for _attack._

Instinctively, he cupped his head between his arms, a thin squeak leaving his throat.

When silence veiled them and no impact quaked his frame, he hesitatingly peeked out of his shelter, deer eyes big and mildly confused.

“Who are you?” came the _feminine_ voice.

Now that he could finally see, it was impossible for him not to get absorbed into the sight. _A woman,_ he thought. There was another woman!

“S-Samwell Tarly,” he uttered out, fidgeting in his footing.

He turned his head and saw a stranger _soldier_ holding his dagger out toward him.

“Iōragon ilago,” she said. _Stand down._

Even though he could get a knife right into his abdomen, he couldn’t find it in him to retain his curiosity. He turned to the woman again, suddenly clear in his thoughts and overtaken by a healthy dose of excitement.

“That was Old Valyrian!” His cheeks puffed up when a grin pushed against them. When his eyes found hers, clashing with the deep violet, his smile started to fall slowly. His gaze then moved to her hair, shrouded in a silver-gold like the purest silks.

“You look Valyrian,” he pointed out, more sheepishly than before. “You’re Daenerys Targaryen.” It was probably the earlier shock that had lessened the current one. Of course, he knew just enough of her existence and her whereabouts curtsy of his time spent with Maester Aemon, but still…

Why in seven hells was Daenerys Targaryen standing in Castle Black’s library?

* * *

 

**DAENERYS VIII**

The book in her hand, a useless weapon in hindsight, started to lower.

“That is my name, alright,” she mused, unable to contain a small smile that began to form at the exhibit before her. There was something liberating about the nonchalance in his reaction to her identity. “Samwell.” She recognized the name, a name she had heard only once in passing, but another name appeared in her mind. _Sam_. Recognition pooled in her eyes, helping her realize she knew him from tales. “You are Jon’s friend.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, deflating the pangs of nervousness clearly prickling him. “You know Jon?” But then the nervousness returned again. “What am I saying? Of course you do. I reckon you’d need to at least _meet_ the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch before, well… using the library of the Night’s Watch.”

“I do. Jon and I are helping each other.” She would leave it at that, but she wanted him to know that they had a mutual friend.

“Right. Right, I see.”

Daenerys tilted her head in interest, her violet eyes observing him intently. He had commented on her language. No one else had done that yet.

“You speak Valyrian?” she asked curiously.

“I,” he cleared his throat, just to avoid stuttering his way through the rest of the words, “I speak a little High Valyrian.” His shoulders leaped in a small shrug. “It’s not very good, but just enough.”

“It’s a lot more than most can say, believe me.”

She had come to learn that most of the men here were sent to the Wall as punishment for crimes they had committed in the past. Rapers, murderers, thieves. She could not help but to look at Sam and wonder what crime he might have committed that would have resulted in him being sent to the frozen edge of Westeros. It was difficult to imagine one, he seemed too harmful and timid to hurt a fly.

“I apologize for almost whacking you with my book, Samwell,” commented Dany, after a moment’s silence.

“Please, call me Sam,” he answered, huffing his way down toward the floor to start cleansing it of the scattered books.

“That’s fine,” he assured, genuineness in his words as the smile from earlier returned to his face. “I understand. Many ill-natured men carry the black around here. I’ve had a first-hand experience with what they’re capable of myself.” He paused slightly, smile instantly dropping off his lips. She’d need to defend herself against the desires of these men, foul desires. Did he just imply he’d experienced that kind of thing? “Well, not me…” An awkward fidget. “I was talking about a, a, a… a… friend.” Another pause. He continued, “They did beat me with rocks and practice swords the day I first got to the Wall, though.”

“A friend?” Surely he meant a woman, who else would the men bother in such a way?

“Yes, it – it doesn’t matter.”

When she was satisfied the man would do her no harm, she dismissed Grey Worm, telling him to stand guard outside instead. She proceeded to bow down and help pick up some of the books he had dropped.

“Oh,” protested Sam. “My Lady, there is no need—”

“You can call me Daenerys,” she told him softly. “There is no need for unnecessary formalities here.” She was not even sure what those formalities would be anymore. Could she still expect people to address her as Queen? Was she nothing more than Lady Targaryen until she had kicked Euron off her throne and reclaimed her children? It was best to avoid the situation altogether - especially with someone like Sam, who seemed to continually stumble in his words around her.

Dany rose to her feet, her arms full of the books she had just picked up, which she curiously let her gaze swipe over. While Sam was still hunched over the floor, she set them on the table by the side, inspecting the titles.

“These are new,” she murmured.

“Oh, no,” snorted Sam. “These are _very_ old. But, yes, new to this library.”

“What are they about?”

“Lots of things I would like to know more about.” He paused, a grunt following which indicated he had stood up as well.

“Are there any on the Valyrian Freehold?” Her voice was trying and her eyes hesitant as they settled on him, not daring to show the dangerous glimmers of hope.

“Indeed, there are.” He was soon by her side, dropping his own pile of books on the same table with a satisfied huff. “You enjoy reading?”

“I am… _looking_ into something,” she answered. Soon, she noticed Sam was scavenging trough the books, likely plucking out the titles that she had inquired about.

“There they are,” he said, glossing his fingers over the book on the top.

“Do you mind if I borrow them?”

“They are not _mine_ and the library is open to all at Castle Black – brothers and guests alike.” The candid smile on his face could only make Dany’s own rush to the surface.

 _At last,_ she thought, pulling the five books toward her, feeling the sizzling tentative hope coil around her.

“Thank you,” she answered earnestly, quickly proceeding to analyze the first page of one of the books, unbothered by the silence that suddenly bestowed them.

Suddenly, the silence was broken.

“I’m – I don’t think it’s my business at all, but… How come you’re here?” asked Sam, drawing her eyes toward him. “Right now? I used to read of your whereabouts to a relative of yours, Aemon was his name. It made his cold nights easier to hear of your conquests and victories. Last I’ve heard, you ruled over Meereen.” He fidgeted lightly, avoiding her gaze at first, but then willing himself into it. “All I’m saying… Meereen is really far away from here. It’s an insanely long journey.”

Her violet eyes observed Sam for a moment, silence still weaved into the air between them. She sighed softly and proceeded to correct him.

“I _was_ Queen of Meereen. I will be again when I am reunited with my dragons. They are currently being kept from me against their will. When they are free of the spell that binds them, I will burn Euron Greyjoy where he stands and I will liberate my people from his tyranny.” There was no use in hiding the truth. What good would it do to lie to someone who would surely know everything by the end of his first few days back?

The expression on his face told Dany he was equally stunned and overwhelmed with genuineness sympathy.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out. “Is this what you are researching? For a way to free them?”

“Indeed,” she replied, trying to hold back a sigh as she pushed the book’s cover closed and claimed a seat at the table.

“And this is what Jon is helping you with?”

As Sam joined her at the table, Dany realized there was an endless stream of curiosity in this young man. And it was beyond endearing.

“I needed a neutral ground to hatch a plan to take back what I lost. I was told there was no such place in the world other than the Wall, so despite the freezing weather, I came here. Jon kindly let me stay although some of the men disagreed with his decision.”

“Now, that is something,” snickered Sam, fiddling with a loose feather on his clothing. “The Wall, the best place to be at for _someone_.”

Dany could not withhold her grin.

Every day someone made a comment about her, every day Thorne complained about her presence, she remembered just how much she owed to Jon. Her life had literally been in his hands, she doubted that she would ever have made it to safety anywhere else.

_Jon._

Now that was a much more interesting topic.

“Speaking of Jon, how long have the two of you been friends for?” Dany wondered, curious to see how far back their friendship went.

“Since we first met, you could say.” He frowned, seeming to reconsider as he stared at some nearby shelves. “Well,” his eyes returned to her, “that’s what it was like for me, at least. When I first arrived here and I got beat up with swords and rocks, it was Jon who defended me. It was probably out of pity, but still, I appreciated it. Alliser Thorne, the master-at-arms, trainer of recruits back then, he was probably expecting to craft me a new shell. He thought it would harden me up. He said, ‘Seems like you’ll have to get through Lord Snow to get to Piggy.’ And they didn’t.” His eyes flared up gently. “He fought the recruits off, so I was free to leave. The next day, I was supposed to fight them, though. When I walked into the courtyard, some refused to fight me. Some just pretended they did, falling to their knees and rolling in the dirt when I did as little as to prick them with the tip of my training sword. I looked behind me and Jon gave me this look… It said, ‘Go ahead. You’re safe. Nothing bad will happen.’ And I realized then that he’d convinced the other recruits to leave me alone. But he also disobeyed Thorne in the process and Thorne… Needless to say, he wasn’t very happy. He stopped bothering me, but he’s taken a particular distaste in Jon since then.” Realizing he’d dozed off, absently staring at an empty spot on the table, he squared his shoulders, releasing a mighty sigh. He straightened his back in the chair, lifting his gaze to meet hers, even if he was unable to keep it steady for too long. “This turned into quite the tale. I suppose my intention was… What I meant was… It’s hard for me not to think of him as a friend after this. He’s been more of a brother to me than the brother whose blood I share.”

A tale, indeed. One Dany was quick to get lost into.

She tried to picture the scene, how a younger Jon would have taught the bullies a lesson, how he would have protected Sam from their taunts and strikes of violence.

It made her heart sigh.

A part of her almost wished the story had been different. She wished no harm on the man, of course, but these new details of Jon’s background did nothing to soothe her desire.

“He is a good man. It takes great courage to do what is right,” she mused gently. “It is much easier to stand by passively and do nothing.”

She believed every word of his story. Jon seemed like the type who would defend those who could not - or would not - defend themselves. He had defended her from Thorne, even before she had offered him something in return for his help. Recalling how he had been an outsider to his own family, she realized how easy it would have been for him to turn into something different, someone dark whose heart held no warmth nor compassion.

“It really is,” sighed Sam. “I would know. So much has eluded me by doing nothing.”

Dany’s brows furrowed.

“I am sorry that happened to you, Sam, but I am pleased you found a true friend. Such friends are rare indeed.” There were more questions burning in her mind, but she was unsure if she had the audacity to ask them. Maybe the answers should come from Jon in time, but she was not known for her patience. “Thorne holds no love for me either. He was angry when Jon told his men I would be staying here.” She smiled again, one corner of her mouth rising higher than the other.

“Thorne holds no love for anyone, though,” he huffed, shaking his head as he fiddled with the rim of his sleeve between his fingers.

“I suppose the two of us are good at getting him in trouble.” Dany wondered if Jon minded all that much or if he took pleasure in riling Thorne up, she couldn’t blame him if he did. Thorne was an ass.

“Oh, Jon doesn’t need any help to get in trouble, I assure you of that,” laughed Sam. “The two of them are better friends than he and I. He did help greatly that time we met and I’ve been trying to repay him since by trying – main word, trying – to deter him from stupid, reckless, and stupidly reckless decisions.”

Dany raised a brow, curiously.

“Unfortunately, kindness and trouble often seem to go hand in hand.”

“Such is life,” mumbled Sam, flipping through a book.

“He is hard to read.” The confession was sudden, born from a stray thought. She half regretted saying anything but the statement had been uttered, and she felt the need to explain herself. “People have always told me I am observant, maybe a little too much, but Jon is difficult to read. Sometimes, I am quite unsure of what he is truly thinking.” Had he always been that way? Had he taken on a mask of frost when he became Lord Commander? She had become someone else after she was named Khaleesi in her own right, followed by being named Queen. “It comes with the title, I suppose.” She was fishing for more information, she was sure Sam knew it too, but it did not matter at this point. She just wanted to know more about the man who she had committed to help in the fight against the dead rising and marching beyond the Wall.

And the man she too often found herself longingly gazing at.

“It’s not the title,” he uttered, relaxing in his seat and scrunching his nose playfully. “He’s always been like this. You know, I read in a book – it was something extensive about all the great houses – about the Starks. The sullen, guarded face seems to be their thing. I suppose he’s more of a Stark than the name or himself let him be. It’s their own, uh,” he twirled a finger toward her, “Valyrian violet eyes and silver hair.”

She looked down at a lock of her own silver hair glistening in the dim light from the window. Hers was just a physical trait, she knew it ran deeper with Jon. He had only let her seen glimpses, small remarks he perhaps didn’t think she would note or shared as an attempt of comfort. She preferred to think of Jon as a Snow, the act of putting Stark after his name complicated things unnecessarily.

“I heard he is dealing with something related to the Free Folk now,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I know he probably has a good reason. He does with you, but… the Wildlings? I just hope it’s a good enough reason, he already has his past with them. He doesn’t need to give the men more reasons to say he’s half wildling.”

“Why do they delight in calling him half wildling? Is it true?”

“Well, to be fair, if we are to be technical… he isn’t _half_ wildling, but he _is_ one in part. The Starks and the Wildlings both share blood with the First Men.” Obviously, that wasn’t the kind of answer she was expecting. It wasn’t the real one he wanted to give either and that became obvious through the way he followed up with a nervous, dim laughter, all while his hands agitatedly fidgeted with a string that had torn itself out of his sleeve. Then, the laughter abruptly ceased, replaced by a soundly groan. His head dropped and he actually looked like he was a child who was readying himself for a scolding. “Of course he didn’t tell you about it…” His voice was barely a murmur. “I had to insist for days until he told _me_.”

“Tell me what?”

“About what happened between him and the Wildlings.” He paused, eying her intently, _pondering._ “Oh, to hell with it. You are staying here amid all this chaos, you deserve to know where it comes from.”

Dany felt like she was bracing herself for quite the tale. And, oh, quite a tale she received.

Sam spoke to her about a ranging expedition, about Jeor _Mormont,_ how Jon had gotten separated and taken hostage by the _Free Folk_. He had loved a wildling girl, Sam said. And just like she and the Dothraki, he had lived among these alleged savages and learned to understand them, truly.

Daenerys had never once imagined she would find someone like Jon, never had it occurred to her there was someone out there with similar experiences as herself. He was trying to combine two worlds hopelessly at war with each other, two worlds with enough bloodshed between them to last an eternity. Just like she had tried to mend the relationship between the slaves and their enslavers in order to secure peace and freedom. He had loved someone, a woman his people called a savage, just like Viserys had sneered at the Dothraki and Drogo. All she had ever thought she wanted was someone to understand what that truly felt like, but she also understood the pain behind possessing such knowledge, and suddenly she wished Jon would never have understood her at all. It seemed unjust the gods should curse two individuals with such an amount of suffering and pain in two short lives.

“What happened to the wildling woman he loved?” It was a simple inquiry and it might seem strange to Sam that particular point was most interesting to her, but she understood everything else he had explained.

She understood the facts, she understood what had led to all this conflict, she had lived it all before. Some details were different, of course, but the story was all the same. Dany wished Jon would have shared this with her himself, but after what Sam had told her about the Starks, she figured she might never have known had his friend not decided to share it with her.

“Oh, uh,” stuttered Sam, clearly taken aback by her choice of queries. “She… died.”

Dany was not particularly surprised by the answer Sam provided her. It seemed Jon’s story of love ended with the same tragic conclusion as hers had, it ended with a love lost and a broken heart. Their list of similarities had yet another subject added.

“Thank you for sharing this with me, Sam. I understand certain things better now - in a good way. It has given me some much-needed context.”

“You are… welcome.” He smiled at her, genuinely. “You would have only heard the malice of Thorne’s men otherwise. One filled with betrayals and oathbreakers.”

What all of this information Sam had provided simply fuelled the flame she carried for Jon Snow, a fire which grew more uncontrollable and wild day by day, it seemed.

Her self-control was already dwindling and now she truly worried what would transpire the next time they were alone. How was she supposed to stay away now?

And like a summon, the next thing Dany heard was the creak of the door as it was abruptly pushed open, whirling her head around and letting her gaze cloak the black-donned frame standing in the door.

Sam stood up, an immediate smile on his face.

“Seven hells, Jon. I can’t leave you alone for one bloody minute, can I?”

Jon’s lips parted, his smile breaking into a full-on beaming grin, launching himself forth with determined stomps, closing the space between them in a matter of moments, and hurling his arms around Sam’s shoulders, adjusting his plump figure into a welcoming embrace.

“ _Seven hells?_ ” replied Jon in utter disbelief. “Sam, what are you _doing_ here?”

The two pulled back and Dany could not help but watch the scene unfold with warmth and fondness floating in the pit of her stomach.

“I suppose I decided I didn’t like the Citadel that much,” responded Sam, his nose scrunching.

“What? I thought becoming a maester was what you wanted.”

“So did I, Jon.”

Jon’s brows furrowed in concern.

“I spoke to Gilly first. Heartsbane? Sam, your father—”

“My father is the least of my worries on my incredibly long list of concerns, thank you very much. He’ll have to live without a bloody sword. So be it.”

Removing his hands, Jon broke his eyes away, head wheeling slowly as they darted toward Daenerys, an immediate flutter overtaking her chest.

Sam jolted, reaching for the books on the table and picking them up in his arms.

“Alright then, I’ve spent too much time in here already. And I didn’t even get started on the reading yet,” he chuckled lightly as he waddled toward the door. Using his foot to widen the opening of the door, he turned to face the two. “Gilly’s waiting for me. We’ll talk later. I’ve got so many things to talk about!” Once he was met with Jon’s expression molding into an accepting smile, his gaze traveled toward Daenerys again, head dipping in a quick, slightly clumsy bow. “Thank you for the nice chat, er… Daenerys,” he paused.

“No, Sam,” she reassured. “I must be the one to thank you.”

“Hopefully those over there,” his head moved toward the couple of books he’d left next to her, “will be of slight help.” And with one last smile, he hurried through the door, lugging it closed behind him.

“You have a sweet friend, Jon.” The words escaped from her despite her unintended hesitation. She chuckled softly as she remembered their meeting of chance and she turned her gaze from the door to Jon. “He was quick to forgive me despite the fact I almost hit him with a book.”

“You threatened him with a book?” His eyes seemed to hold a hint of amusement.

“It was the only weapon at hand.” Her eyes followed him intently as he walked around the table, resting his hands on the chair. “He surprised me, I am usually alone in here, I thought it might have been Rast or one of his friends.”

As his fingers idly grazed at the top of a chair backrest, he uttered, “Rast and his Rast-like friends don’t often set foot around these places. You’ll be safe here. Sam’s appetite for talking is all the threats you’ll have to face.”

Her violet hues were filled with something strange as she beheld him, a mix of desperate longing and careful observance.

She saw him differently now, she knew he had loved once despite his vows, she also knew he had lost that love, having had it ripped from him by death.

She was trapped between wanting to tell Jon what she knew, what Sam had told her, and keeping it to herself a little longer. She had no idea if he would be upset that she knew, Sam had ensured her he didn’t speak about it because that was just not who he was, he was guarded, but she still felt like she knew something not meant for her. Despite all of this, she also did not feel like it should be kept secret.

She finally broke the silence that had fallen between them during her bout of hesitance.

“I know about the Wildlings. Why your men call you half wildling.” Her tone was soft, not any trace of judgment detectable in her words because she felt none at all. Her hand which had previously rested on one of the books slipped from its leather cover as she took a step closer to him. “Sam only told me because I asked, and he thought it was important I heard the truth, not the lies your men might have told me.”

She did not wish to cause any bad blood between the two friends. She carefully watched for Jon’s reaction whether he would be relieved she knew or angry, maybe both.

“It’s barely been a few hours,” he remarked lowly, head shaking harmlessly, though his voice was audibly filled with a serene calmness. “I forgot how fiercely Sam enjoys lending his help.”

“I surely hope you are not angry at him.”

“Somehow, I am simply not surprised. That is all.”

Dany said nothing more, still awaiting _something_ more for his response.

“They’re not lies,” was his first remark. “They believe what they want to believe. And if Sam’s really told you all that was important, you also know of all the vows I’ve broken. It’s in their right to see betrayal where there really is one.” She wanted to argue on that, but he continued, “It doesn’t matter. What is done is done. We have other things that require our attention.”

_No._

He was not allowed to rip the connection she had found with him away, not even if he did not realize it was there. They were tethered now, Dany finally understood what that truly meant. It was not just a battle in the future they had to bravely lead, they were both trapped in the battlefields of their past, and they were both fighting like hell against ghosts and regrets.

“You are wrong. It matters to _me,_ ” she said firmly, yet softly.

“You don’t know nearly enough to be the judge of that.”

She stood in the middle of the room, as perfectly still as a statue as she collected her thoughts. They were a whirlwind, almost impossible to tame, perhaps that is why she decided to stop looking for reasons to feed into her hesitation.

“I know you got trapped between duty and doing what you felt was right. I know you had to break the vows you took.” She started her journey towards Jon, her steps short but sure. She fought against the desire to simply lay everything bare, to share her own tales of broken vows and duty. “I know you lost someone.” Daenerys finally closed the distance between them, the last step she took hesitantly, knowing she may be headed straight for disaster. However, she felt a pull towards Jon, she had ever since the day the letter arrived. No matter how gruesome the experience had been, and no matter how much it haunted her every moment, she could still recall the warmth of his hand engulfing her own. It was an innocent touch at the time, she knew that perfectly well, but it had affected her deeply none the less. It had set off a craving within her. She kept her lilac eyes locked with the darkness of his gaze before lowering and softening her voice. “I know you got hurt.”

As she confessed to the last part, she raised her hand slowly but surely. She carefully traced over the faded scar which marred his cheek.

_Three arrows stuck in his body and nasty wounds on his face._

As soon as she touched him, she was consumed by the inexplicable sereneness which had overwhelmed her the day he held her hand. The day she understood that _she wanted him_.

The caress was soft, only a mere brush upon the skin, but it was enough to send her heart galloping once she truly realized what she was doing. Despite knowing she might scare him away, she could not bring herself to halt her actions. It was too late to break the spell now.

He was silent. Still. His gaze was knitted with hers and she could not decipher what rested beneath it, not entirely. But he did not move, did not shy away from her touch.

Before this moment she had purposefully looked away from the little features, the ones who together formed him to be one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. She had noticed the day they met, how could she not? However, now she stood closer than ever before, close enough that she could drink in every little detail of his face.

The veil between them which she had been clinging onto was gone, swept aside by emotions and desire hopelessly out of her control.

“I don’t just know these things, Jon. I _understand_.”

As she took in every small crease of his face, her gaze finally found its way to his full lips. She felt the warmth coursing through her veins turn primal, more uncontrollable, and she felt how the ghostly touch of her finger upon his cheek transformed into a soft grip around his jaw, her thumb still mindlessly tracing the white line of his scar.

And then he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry that you do, Dany,” he said simply, his voice but a distant hush, carrying on its wave a thick coating of bitter regret that conveyed every ghastly torment he struggled to keep locked away.

Her breath hitched in her throat, almost afraid to breathe too heavily in fear of scaring Jon away.

There was no time for pause. She had been tormented long enough by unrelenting desire.

Dany stood on her toes and stretched upward to meet his lips, using her gentle grip on his jaw to bring him closer.

Her lips brushed over his carefully seeking a reaction, but the fire was already spreading within her. She felt as if she was back among the flames of Drogo’s funeral pyre, the pyre where her dragons had been born. She finally felt alive again as the heat of their connection revived what she once thought lost.

Her eyes were closed, but she did not need her sight to feel his lips moving against hers, _pressing further,_ to feel how his jaw was still cupped in her palm.

Even now she knew this moment was a double-edged sword.

She wanted this to continue, knowing he would escape from her grasp eventually. Dany would chase this feeling, again and again, she knew she would. She would brave even the fiercest winds of the North, however cold and unforgiven they might be. The temptation was too sweet and alluring, like a man fighting against the temptation of throwing himself at the sweet liberation wine could bring. One little taste was enough to undo years of fighting and resistance.

And then, suddenly, like a cold winter’s breeze, she was wakened to reality when her breathing was allowed exit again, when the warmth of Jon’s lips moved away from hers. It took every shred of her will to fight against the desire to claim them again.

She eventually opened her eyes to the blackness of his stare.

His eyes, lost and filled with _dread_.

Her own eyes pleading words she would never say.

_Please, please stay._

The plea was on the tip of her tongue but she never uttered the words, the look in his eyes muted her. They shone with uncertainty, but she had realized before there was a sharp contrast between them, now more clear to her than ever.

She was known for taking lovers, he was the Lord Commander who was supposed to father no children, which seemed to be translated to celibacy by most.

“I –“ He cleared his throat and, for a moment, his glance returned to her lips, but it was immediately torn off, an exasperated sigh crawling its way from his throat. “Forgive me. This, it’s not… we shouldn’t, we—uh…” Another sigh followed, his head shaking faintly before his eyes met hers again, lost and pleading. “— I should probably go.”

Daenerys slowly removed her hand from his jaw, already feling hopelessly cold again. Frost settled in her bones as the fire which had burned brightly within her veins only a moment before dimmed, leaving only flickering dark shadows.

“There are so many things in life we shouldn’t do.” She spoke the words with her own hint of a sigh. There was more melancholy in the statement than she had intended to show. Her heart was attempting to fall back into a normal rhythm, but she was left breathless still. “Although that knowledge never seems to chase away the desire to do them anyway.”

“I don’t,” he paused and Dany took this as a cue that he was shaken up, that he was struggling, that he was _fighting_ , “I don’t believe this is the right place for them.”

She wanted to be greedy, she wanted to kiss him again, but instead she gathered her strength and took a step back, moving away from him and the heat that had arisen between their bodies.

She would not trap Jon in her web, holding him against his better judgment.

She gave him the opportunity to run away, the least she could do was give him that choice.

“If that is what you wish then I won’t stop you.” There was no malice in her voice, no sign of annoyance or impatience.

Dany understood why Jon wanted to get away, Sam had told her of the guard he put up and she had delivered a hard blow to the shield he seemed to keep up between himself and the world, certainly between the two of them.

His mouth opened to speak, but words seem to have frozen in his throat. Instead, he offered a stiff nod, turned heel, and left the library in a haste, not looking behind once.

Her own confusion left her shaken and lost.

The position she now found herself in was new to her. If she had kissed nearly anyone else in Castle Black, she would have been left in no question of intentions or the future, yet now she stood feeling unsure if she had made the right choice.

After a brief internal deliberation, she found that no matter what she did not regret finally giving into her want.

The feeling of his lips pressing against hers lingered sweetly on her lips, and no matter her doubt, she still felt a connection to the man who had successfully managed to leave the Dragon Queen rattled and wanting more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? anyone feeling as feelsy as i did reliving all of this?
> 
> legit question: i was debating on uploading tomorrow a "bonus" chapter which essentially shows the same scene, except from jon's pov. it's a bit challenging to portray what HE'S feeling during dany's povs and i feel like some people might get the wrong impressions from his reaction. he's definitely attracted to her and he definitely responded to the kiss, but, y'know... he's clinging stubbornly to his bloody vows. for NOW. ;) so, yes, let me know if you'd like some jon insight or if all's clear to you guys!
> 
> as always, i appreciate all the support for this journey!
> 
> next update will be on sunday, november 5th.


	13. Half Wildling (Jon's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last scene of chapter twelve, from Jon's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, here's jon's pov for the last chapter! for those that don't know, this is strictly a bonus chapter dished out between the regular updates, so don't be disappointed there aren't any new events or aftermaths in here. we'll get to those on sunday!
> 
> i reshaped this chapter to focus a lot more on jon's inner turmoil and less on what was happening since... well, you're supposed to know what's happening already. ;)
> 
> have fun!

**JON (BONUS)**

He had heard from Edd that Sam had ridden through Castle Black’s gates only a few hours prior.

All thoughts of the Wildlings, and of little Haramun, and of his worries forgotten, Jon’s step had never been more hurried than when he went to seek Samwell Tarly in his chambers, to seek the small speckles of warmth of a rare sunlight to his frigid soul.

There, he’d only found Gilly and the _other_ Sam, bundled in her arms almost as a laughable reminder of the concerns he had tried to bury. The girl had smiled at him, genuinely glad to see him, eager to let him to know that Sam’s whereabouts had brought him to the library.

And to the library he’d gone.

Breaking in through the door, he’d seen Daenerys first. How could he not?

But the main target of his attention, that moment, had been Sam, who Jon had brought into his embrace for the first time in months. For the first time in months, he’d felt a breath of genuine relief drained out of his frozen lungs. And these arms that hugged back, they were telling of the exact same feeling.

Only after the glee of this reunion had been consumed had Jon allowed the questions and confusions to pour. But all too soon, Sam had taken his leave. And although Jon longed for his good friend’s company and for a quenching of his curiosity, he could not make himself blind to Daenerys Targaryen’s presence.

And, now, there they stood.

Every time they found each other in a chamber, the walls seemed to be closing in around them, making the space suffocating and tense. The chatter was idle, even when a ball of unexplainable anxiousness was cocooned in his chest, when his fingers were closed around the backrest of a chair _tightly,_ whitening his knuckles.

His instincts were good. Too good sometimes. There was no comfort to ooze from her either.

She wanted to _tell him something._ And so she did.

“I know about the Wildlings. Why your men call you half wildling,” she said. “Sam only told me because I asked, and he thought it was important I heard the truth, not the lies your men might have told me.”

His muteness was not a representation of his surprise, for it was not there at all.

“It’s barely been a few hours,” he answered, feeling strangely numb to this revelation. “I forgot how fiercely Sam enjoys lending his help.” He had never expected this tale to reach her ears, but with the fact consumed, he shouldn’t have expected less from Sam. Sam, who had refused to believe him as anything less than a tragic captive, a hero whose tarnished reputation had saved Castle Black.

“I surely hope you are not angry at him.”

“Somehow, I am simply not surprised. That is all.”

He was trying to shy away from the core of the conversation. And her silence told him she was having none of it.

“They’re not lies,” was his first remark. “They believe what they want to believe. And if Sam’s really told you all that was important, you also know of all the vows I’ve broken. It’s in their right to see betrayal where there really is one.” Somehow he felt like she might argue him on the subject, which was why he didn’t leave much room for a reply before continuing. “It doesn’t matter. What is done is done. We have other things that require our attention.”

Ready to move on, ready to bury the topic, to keep his walls raised, to not allow this crack to widen any further, Jon had instead to face her response.

“You are wrong,” she said. “It matters to _me_.”

_It should not. Please, it should not._

“You don’t know nearly enough to be the judge of that.”

The crack was spreading.

“I know you got trapped between duty and doing what you felt was right. I know you had to break the vows you took.” His throat was denied anything but dryness. “I know you lost someone.” His lungs were denied a steady breathing. “I know you got hurt.” His eyes were wide, mirrors of the fortress turned to dust around him, trapped in the fierceness of lilac whirlpools before him.

He started to feel like the situation was slipping out of his grasp and any faint hint of control that might have been left. There were so many questions and most of them started with a “why.” He didn’t even realize when, all of sudden, Daenerys was in front of him, rid of the lengthy space that had previously stretched between the two of them.

He was struggling to filter through the whirlwind of words and questions spinning in his mind, but every time he settled on something, it never came to fruition, choosing instead to freeze in his throat and forcing him to start the process all over again.

There was something about her gaze that hung to his shoulders like multiple boulders chained to his frame, shrinking his posture, rendering himself to feeling small and vulnerable.

_Why?_

Unknown and familiar feeling whirred through his stomach, reminding him of all the flusters of the past in his desperate quest for an _answer._

Ros, there was Ros… She was a beautiful woman, he’d felt like this then too. No, there had only been fear, no warmth.

Ygritte… No, not until that day in the cave.

Val, the wildling princess, with her icy golden mane, her graceful step. His eyes could barely falter away from her sight, yet his heartbeats were often serene and asleep.

 _Daenerys._ There was something else and the obscurity of the answer, so out of reach for him, only continued to stir his head as his mind desperately searched for a new ground of stability, some lucidity in the avalanche of senselessness that had stolen control and ration from his grasp.

What was it?

He’d only felt the rush of these sentiments around Ygritte when he realized she— _Oh._

The touch to his cheek startled him. His eyes leaped back upward instinctively, though he immediately regretted his subconscious making that call for him. Once his gaze knitted with hers, he realized there was no turning back, no dipped glances scanning at the tips of his boots, stained by the droplets of melted snow.

Maybe it was a risk or simply too foreign and strange for him to do so, but he realized that he had no choice. No choice but to peek between the cracks of his shield if he really wanted to understand, which he so desperately needed to.

Like the chilly breaths of winter, scattering little by little across the lands, journeying from the distant North, he allowed the conviction, the flame in her eyes to consume him. The previous traces of helplessness, and confusion, and the markers of how lost he found himself dissipated and got swallowed into the unwavering darkness of his own eyes, so decisively locked to hers, silently begging for an answer, for any form of understanding.

“I don’t just know these things, Jon,” she breathed out, withering his heartbeats. “I _understand._ ”

_Understanding._

She spoke of it too and he realized it wasn’t something she’d say lightly. Finally, he had some words to speak, but he realized how dry his throat was when he allowed them to rush out.

“I’m sorry that you do, Dany.”

What else could he say? Despite longing for it, he wished on no one to relate to his experiences, much less to understand. Understand what it was like to never really belong, to be a pariah, to be thrust into a responsibility unlike any other, to know the pain of loss.

Was that what she understood? What had filled her eyes with so much warmth?

Her gaze darted away and he suddenly felt his breathing come to a halt. He’d just started adding some sense back to his thoughts, but the stoicism was fleeing from him once again.

Such a small gesture, such a fickle sight, her gaze fallen from his, locked onto his lips.

It called out to a deep part of him.

The part of him covered, and ignored, and buried underneath the mountains of duty, fears, and regrets.

No… The part of him that _longed_ for it, he realized as he felt her touch tighten against his jaw.

 _Stop it_ , screamed the voice at the back of his head, struggling to break through the enthrallment drowning every inch of his frame.

It was all an eternity, an eternity of ponders and of choices. Her hand guiding his head downward, his gaze dropping to her lips as they drew in closer; he had all the time in the word to really fight his way out of the daze.

But he didn’t want to.

Free of another influence, another tug, another touch, his lids numbly draped over his eyes and his lips pressed into hers.

 _Stop it,_ the voice continued to shout, buried underneath the coats of warmth cruising through his veins and the faint shudders bolting up his spine.

Goosebumps, there were goosebumps too. But, no, those were from the chilly winds pushing through the cracks in the window. They grew stronger, starting to whip at his bare cheek which wasn’t shielded by the warmth of her touch.

Like a frost bolt, it lodged itself into his skin and shattered away at the daze that had caged him in its claws, jolting his eyes open and filling them with the dread of realization.

All of sudden, he was again in control of his own motions, comprehending just now that he’d even lost it in the first place.

His hand was raised mid-air, instinctively drawn toward her frame through the kiss.

_The kiss?_

_Oh, gods._

With a silent gasp, he drew his head back, unplastering his lips off, now feeling hollow and cold. His mouth was slightly agape as he gazed toward the hand by his jawline, his eyes filled with pangs of deep confusion and a sense of fear he was unable to shun away.

“I –” _You have lost, you fool._ “Forgive me. This, it’s not… we shouldn’t, we—uh…” The ruthless voices of ration were spinning in his head, reprimanding him, demanding his rebuttal, for him to see this was _wrong._ “— I should probably go.” And the voices won.

“There are so many things in life we shouldn’t do,” she said and there was nothing more that he wished than for her silence. “Although that knowledge never seems to chase away the desire to do them anyway.”

 _Of course,_ he thought, but barely. _Of course she understands this too._

“I don’t,” he _fought,_ against the wave of emotion woven through his bones, led on by the bitter reminders that this was wrong. “I don’t believe this is the right place for them.”

_You are Lord Commander. You have responsibilities, a duty._

_You are the Bastard of Winterfell._

“If that is what you wish then I won’t stop you,” she replied, but he was already too far gone into this explosive blend of confusion and strife to actually stop and seek out _what he wished for._

It was all too much.

He remembered Ygritte's numb corpse in his arms, the pains of her arrows as his  _duty_ had stolen him away.

And, in that moment, he decided to do the one thing that could take these boulders off his back.

He decided to take the easy escape.

He decided to run away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i dunno if it brought any new insight to anyone, but i feel better having this out there. aside from the whole obvious issue with his duty and vows, he's just... scared. and this overshadowed his initial curiosity toward her showing understanding and relating to his experiences. he fears he might get attached and this would both complicate things and has all the chances of ending badly. jon's a cynic. he has no expectations of any of this ending well. can anyone blame him?
> 
> anywho, that was it. :') hopefully it was a nice, short read to fill in the wait til sunday a bit. 
> 
> again, next proper update is coming up on november 5th. thanks for the amazing support!


	14. First Outlines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon, Daenerys, and Tormund outline a plan that benefits them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyoooo, lovelies!
> 
> super sorry for the late update. i caught such an awful cold that i couldn't do anything for the next few days except cough my lungs out and cry. why can't we get features to put post-it notes on fics when we half-die so readers can know why the heck we're not updating? someone should get on that.
> 
> i don't have much to say about it. just lots of thanks for the well-being wishes and patience. 
> 
> enjoy!

**JON VIII**

Maybe he should have said something.

No, he definitely should have.

Whenever he wasn’t debating whether his departure had been properly executed or not, he spent his time thinking what he could have done instead. One more thought nailed into his head, stubbornly settled and refusing to leave, which kept his eyes wide open in the heart of darkness.

His eyes would stare absently into the pitch cloaking of the ceiling, switching constantly between regret and conviction, between approving and disapproving.

It hadn’t been gallant, nor particularly courageous if he were to be fully honest, to find himself so grateful over her permission and leave the library wordlessly, as if he had fled from a blazing fire.

This amalgam of thoughts mattered not since the conclusion was always the same, reeling him back to the memory of his breath hitched in his throat and his lips trapped by hers.

That was the point when, whatever it was he was doing, he clung to distractions more hopelessly than ever. For most of the days that followed, he hardly left the confinement of his study, mostly sending Satin and his other stewards on delivery missions. He’d only snuck out when weariness managed to weigh him down completely, so that he could collapse over his sheets and fall into a deep slumber.

Rather than spending time pondering the answers to his numerous questions, he preferred tending to those needs he deemed more critical. For every shade of lilac that plastered itself to his sight like a flash of light, he’d stubbornly cling to the distant shouts of the black brothers around him, ceaselessly bickering among each other.

Early in the noon, he’d decisively finally left his tower and met Tormund and Grunell in the quarters they were confined to. Not surprisingly, when Tormund had heard of the Lord Commander’s invitation for a private parlay in his study, he’d been about as non enthusiastic as he could get. Words of possible murders had been spoken, but ultimately, he’d given in, much to the dismay of his other companion.

Now, they were finally in the tower, opposite of each other and with only the dusty desk standing between them.

For someone of his stature, Tormund looked surprisingly small in his seat. It was probably due to the fact that he was guarded and indecisive, as opposed to displaying the same amounts of ferocity and confidence that he usually wore with him.

It was the wildling who spoke first, something that would get passed off as a formality in Westeros, but which meant nothing but a genuine remark for the Free Folk.

“Fancy place ya got ‘ere,” he grumbled, his eyes scanning throughout the chamber. He wasn’t expecting a response to that, Jon could tell. It was only the icebreaker and if he continued with it without addressing the reasoning of his visit, Tormund would make sure to bite it out of him.

“I’ve made up my mind,” Jon responded, albeit after a moment of ponder. Tormund’s eyes locked on him, one brow quirking inquisitively.

“Oh? Have y’now? What a blessin’ that Lord Crow finally decided ta save us all.”

Jon couldn’t mask the huff that fell of his lips, his back straightening in his own chair.

“Call it whatever you wish. You do need to get south of the Wall as soon as soon as possible.”

“Don’t say tha’ like we don’ know it.”

“Then don’t _talk_ like you don’t know it.” A

t this point, he knew that there was really no light way of dealing with someone as hard-headed as Tormund, though that could easily be applicable to the Wildlings in general. They were proud people, harsh but truthful, with barely any drop of slyness in their body, save for a few exceptions like Orell Skinchanger. If he were to appease to them, a calm conversation full of subtleties wasn’t the ideal approach.

Tormund cracked his neck, giving a light growl in his thick beard as he eyed Jon sharply, a look that he was all too formed with by now.

“You’re here because I know you understood Mance’s mission wasn’t to rage a war – with us or the South,”  said Jon. “You understand that he was trying to do the exact same thing, to ensure that you and your people will have a future, not end up butchered by the Others.”

“Aye,” the wildling responded lowly. “That was it. An’ I’m still gonna raise hell till I see it done.”

“Then you agree that we need to work together.”

“You an’ me?” Tormund’s lips fell downwards as he shrugged. “Maybe. You an’ everyone else? Good luck with tha’, boy.”

Jon’s lashes batted numbly as they veiled his gaze which drooped toward the edge of the desk in deep ponder. That was the biggest obstacle in their wake, he realized it.

“That’s why I’ll need your help,”  Jon breathed out.

Tormund scoffed, his chortle lonesome, gruff, and bitter.

“Damn right ya do. They’re never gonna listen to ya.”

“I know they won’t. But they’ll listen to you. This will only work if you believe, for real, that this is the right choice.” Suddenly, Tormund’s face turned grim and thoughtful, but his response stalled long enough for the silence to be broken by the sound of a faint, but firm enough knock on the door. “Come in,” Jon called out, pressing his lips into his crossed fingers as he journeyed through the multiple trails of thoughts in his head.

Appearing in the threshold was Satin, who gave a curious glance toward Tormund before dipping his head in a respectful bow.

“Forgive the interruption, my Lord. It’s Lady Daenerys. She wishes to speak with you.”

Jon’s eyes zapped immediately toward Satin, but instead of properly focusing on the boy, his gaze pierced through him, nearly sighting beyond the frame of the steward and expecting to see the silver locks and the pair of lilac eyes that haunted him.

He realized that he was dubiously delayed in his reply, which eventually came in the shape of a simple nod followed by a clear of his drying throat. His arms collapsed over the table with a thud, a heavy sigh rattling his lips as his gaze buried itself into the surface, as deeply as possible, almost as if he wished he could burn a hole through it and simply hurl himself inside of it.

He only barely peeked upward through his lashes when he heard Tormund chuckle.

“You an’ the missus havin’ private meetings? Don’ wanna be interruptin’ no thing, Jon Snow,” said the brutish man, his crooked teeth bared through the joyous grin plastered on his face.

There was already enough pressure on Jon’s shoulders to leave his head empty of any retaliation, painting instead his cheeks with a deep shade of crimson.

Daenerys stepped inside, for once donned in a rigid aura that was difficult to decipher. Jon wondered if she was bothering to toss any glances his way. He wouldn’t know, his eyes being too busy with unimportant parchments scattered on his desk.

When Jon was about to dig the opening for their upcoming conversation, she spoke up instead.

“I have come to discuss a plan regarding getting my dragons back,” she said, her voice carrying a particular lacing of steel that finally drew his gaze up from the safety of the desk. Her own lilac eyes were fixed on him, but they soon darted away to move toward Tormund, who had been wordlessly staring up at her from his seat. “This concerns the Free Folk too.”

Jon noted that she chose to adopt this particular naming. He wanted to say something, but his confusion ensured Tormund would beat him to it.

“Oh-hoh,” he snickered. “I’m listenin’.”

“I want to propose a deal that will offer your people a settlement south of the Wall,” she replied, only deepening how lost Jon was feeling. “There you will be under the same protection as the rest of the realm.”

“A proposal, aye?” the wildling jested. “Noble intentions, gal, find me again when yer gonna live ‘em up too.”

As Tormund was speaking, Jon’s gaze darted toward Daenerys under the crease of his quipped brows. He had many things to ponder over, but a very short time to do so. Before deciphering her words, he could tell that one thing was clear: he didn’t want to undermine her. With a proposal came conditions and although she spoke of what the Free Folk would gain, she had yet to enlist what her own would be. If she needed the help of the wildlings for something, the last thing she could afford was having the rug slipped from underneath her feet and have her plans and directions questioned in front of a particularly hard-headed wildling.

In less than a few moments, Jon had to decide whether his priority was to request the consultation he humbly felt entitled to or to fuel the sole spark of home that she’d seemingly managed to find in her weeks at Castle Black.

His mind glided toward one direction and he chose to follow it through.

There was no time to go back.

“She’s Daenerys Targaryen,” Jon spoke shortly after Tormund ended his stance. “Her father was the king before Robert’s Rebellion.”

He was still unsure about how cultured the Free Folk were regarding the various affairs south of the Wall. Many were well-aware of his father’s identity and seemed to hold an uncanny respect for his name, but there were also some who were completely oblivious. Something like the death of a dynasty and a major rebellion would surely spread throughout the realm, but seclusion with little means of communication wasn’t an ally.

As he locked eyes with the wildling, Jon could tell that his words sparked some form of familiarity with him. Tormund disrupted the contact and let his eyes wander back toward Daenerys, this time more curiously.

“I see,” he muttered, his neck twisted lightly, his lips kneading together. “So the princess wants daddy’s big chair back.”

“I want the throne because I can do a better job than the fool who took it from my family,” Daenerys bit back, clearly irked by Tormund’s assumptions and wordings.

“That’s what they all say, girl.”

After a prolonged moment in which Tormund’s eyes, admittedly uncomfortably, journeyed across every inch of her body, Jon succumbed to the urge of leaning back into his chair with a thud, the echoing creak being the signal to tear the wildling’s gaze away and direct it back to the Lord Commander.

“That’s it, then?” huffed Tormund. “She gonna become queen, grant my people all the mead and joy in the world?” Jon’s eyes flicked upward as he pressed his thumb into his teeth thoughtfully. It was clear by the way Tormund spoke that he’d immediately assumed Jon was in full knowledge of her intentions, which made this all the more difficult for him to handle.

“Listen to her proposal first,” he suggested. “It might be what you need.”

When his gaze clashed with Daenerys’, it was clearly written all over it that he was granting her this one pass, that he had chosen to go along with her charade.

“I proposed a deal, not a gift,” she clarified, pacing around, taking small steps which eventually brought her next to his desk, next to his _side_. “I have spoken to your friend. Grunell?”

“The old fart?” commented Tormund. “Death would be a better friend.”

“It matters not. I asked him why you are here. You wish to be able to journey away from peril, do you not?”

“That would be pretty damn ideal.”

“I made the Lord Commander a promise. I promised to help fight against the Others and I intend to keep that promise, but I need my dragons back in order to do so.”

Tormund’s brow furrowed deeply. “Wha’?”

She continued talking without much thought of why the wildling seemed confused.

“Help me release them from the bonds Euron Greyjoy has put on them. Once my dragons are released, victory will be won easily. With the support of the Lord Commander, I will turn my army and my dragons to the North in the fight against the Others in order to protect the realm and any people dwelling inside its borders.”

It was clear judging by her wording that she had become aware of the position she had put him in and was trying to shift the circumstances, to create some sort of balance and illusion of an alliance.

For a moment, the possibility of this actually being a proper plan was overshadowed by his questions on exactly _what_ Grunell had told her. Did she know about Stannis? Jon had been very vehement regarding its preservation as a secret, but he knew he had little to no control over what words flowed out of the Free Folk’s mouths.

“—You are shittin’ me, right?” Tormund asked, visibly flabbergasted. Yet, despite that, Daenerys was unwavering, keeping her end of her bargain steely and firm.

“If you agree to this deal, the details of the settlement will be made with the Lord Commander. It is his land to grant,” she added and with those words, it was clear she had made the most of her point.

Tormund had fallen quiet again, his gaze slowly traveling from Daenerys down to the Lord Commander once more.

“Is this princess of yers speakin’ the truth?” _This princess of **his**_.

“She has dragons,” Jon spoke up with a faint nod. “She also has an army, but they’re seized by someone else – this man, Euron Greyjoy. Surely, you know how much of a difference dragons could make.” The dazzle in Tormund’s features still wasn’t gone, instead developing into an explosive laugh, truly not joyful and, instead, filled with mockery and disbelief. Jon could see him ready himself for a retort, another jesting remark, and he cut the man off before he had the chance. “It’s the truth, Tormund. And not because she says it is. The news may not have reached beyond the Wall, but there have been witnesses that know they’re real.” Although he may have risked making his words sting a bit, he decided it was the right course of action when he started to notice Tormund’s cynicism melt away from his figure. Tormund snorted, leaning into his chair with a thud and Jon realized it was an opportune moment to continue. “And that horn… You’re no stranger to the magic certain horns can possess, are you?”

The wildling clenched his jaw, shifting the target of his intense stare from Jon to Daenerys, back and forth, back and forth.

“So… Me an’ my people… We gonna fight fer ya… To get yer dragons back. The pretty crow’s gonna give us these lands an’ yer gonna come torch those frozen fuckers.” He was addressing Daenerys, though his gaze was lowered through his wild gestures, very telling of how he was struggling to piece everything together.

“This would be the bottom line, yes,” said Daenerys, a curt smile gracing her features. “I have been told that your people are fond of fair trades. Join me, come with me to Meereen, across the sea, and you can secure a future for your children.”

After a moment, Tormund simply huffed and when his glance rose again, Jon could see clarity in his eyes again.

“Well, tha’s nice. But them lands ain’t yers to give, aye? What’re we gonna get from _you_ for fightin’ in _yer_ army?”

That was a clear dangerous territory. Jon’s head was still slightly blurry from Tormund’s reasoning and the confusion they wielded, but there was a fair point in there that he decided to cling to.

Not as revenge, but merely as compensation, he came forth with a response before Daenerys could.

“You’re right. The lands of the Gift belong to the Night’s Watch; it’s my promise, not hers. But there’s a limit to the territory, as with any other. If you’ll be forced to journey further south, for whatever reason, as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms she can allow you to trespass and settle on lands that are no longer in my jurisdiction without the fear of retaliation.” He flicked his gaze up toward Tormund and noticed the hollowness in his eyes. Jon froze for a moment, a hand stopped mid-air as he and the wildling exchanged wordless moments of confusion. In a feeble voice, Jon made an attempt at clearing it off. “You’ll… be able to settle on lands that aren’t mine and the people won’t be allowed to attack you for it.”

“Good,” came Tormund’s response, with no hesitation. Jon let out a deep sigh, briefly glancing up at Daenerys as a silent excuse for the promises he’d thrown on her bag, but he wasn’t torn up enough to let the moment last any longer than a fleeting moment. It was interrupted by the creak of Tormund’s chair, anyway. “Tha’s nice an’ dandy with me, but I ain’t the one to shake hands with for the deal.”

Jon frowned. “Mance’s dead. Who’s supposed to make the call, then?”

“All of the leaders of the clans. Each gotta decide for themselves now.” Dreadful news, especially given the well-known story of long it’d taken Mance Rayder to rally all the clans and factions behind him.

“Where can we find as many of them?”

“Hardhome.”

“Then that’s where to go to discuss these matters.”

“An’ are ya proposin’ t’ take a swim on the way there, Jon Snow?”

Jon shifted lightly in his seat, his thumbs idly fiddling with each other.

“No. We have ships and boats docked at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.” Ships left behind by Stannis Baratheon for free usage in case this moment would ever come. “Just enough for how many of the Free Folk will be willing to join us, if any at all. If I send a raven right away, they’ll be ready by the time you arrive there.”

“By the time _I_ arrive there?” Tormund quipped an eyebrow, for once more knowing of something than Jon was, who was visibly overtaken by a hue of confusion. “Oh, no, no, no. Yer comin’ too _, boy_. If yer gonna ask my people for all this shit, they gonna need to hear it from the _Lord Crow_. Tell ‘em no one’s gonna chop off their heads the moment they get on those ships or walk through yer gates.”

Jon clenched his jaw lightly, though his answer was hardly delayed.

“Alright. I understand—“

“The princess too.”

Jon’s words froze in his throat before they glided back down in a lumpy gulp.

A journey beyond the Wall was perilous enough for him, even after having spent so much time in the frigid snowland. But as much as he wished to not underestimate the strength Daenerys carried with her, it was impossible not to cynically look on her prospects. The cold, the brutality of the Free Folk combined with the risk of her requests, the threat of the imminent destruction brought by the Others… Even though there was a part of him that wished she would deny it, he knew there was no other way. It was so obvious that Tormund needn’t even come assist his request with an explanation. Of course the person they’d be supposedly fighting for needed to be there to request their aid in person.

“Of course. They should hear it from me and none other,” came Daenerys’ response, as certain as he’d expected it to be.

“Good,” said Tormund solemnly. “We best get ready as soon as possible. Winter ain’t gonna wait us out.”

Despite the urgency in Tormund’s voice, Jon was still caught up in the poignant concern closing in around his guts like tight fists. He wondered if Daenerys was afraid of venturing beyond the Wall too, if she was only putting up a façade of bravery.

As Tormund started babbling away words of pride about Hardhome, Jon hurled a sheepish glance up toward Daenerys and, much to his dismay, he found that her gaze had been settled on him already.

Even despite the seriousness of this new outline, Jon found himself scorched up by her gaze. And he _hated_ it. He hated how easily it had its wicked way with him and pulled him away from worldly matters and back into that library.

“… Obviously, ya don’t _have_ mammoths, but that’s gonna do.” This was all the extent of what Jon had processed in Tormund’s speech. And he seemed to pick up on it. “Was I talkin’ to my ass?”

“You were not,” Daenerys jumped in, waving a hand. “It sounds like a beautiful and untamed place.” _No._ One single glance cast toward her told Jon she had been as caught up in her thoughts just as he had been.

Suddenly, he felt Tormund’s heavy gaze on him.

“She the reason why you so damn tired all the time, Jon Snow?” snickered the wildling, a brow bolted. Daenerys made no attempts at masking the sigh that rolled off her lips.

“No. The ruckus you and your men have caused are,” retorted Jon, bitterly. Not wishing to grant Tormund any more opportune moments to _torment him,_ Jon rose from his seat, planting his fists against the table. “Is it decided then, Tormund?”

Tormund straightened his back and, after a short moment, offered a determined nod.

Then Jon’s gaze journeyed toward Daenerys once again, his eyes carrying the very same question, along with many others. Along with a silent plea that perhaps she would choose safety and selfishness over venturing into those cold, whistling winds.

But there was nothing of that sort in her face.

For the first time in a couple of months, she had found a spark of hope and that spark had given birth to a mighty fire that nothing could extinguish.

“It is decided on my part as well,” she answered determinedly.

Feeling the sharpness of his teeth biting at the inside of his cheek, Jon straightened his back. Everyone else was braving it out for this one attempt that could very easily make the difference between life and death, that could prove to be, in the long run, their salvation.

“Very well,” Jon decided. “In a couple of days we will head for Hardhome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and, ta-da! at last, we are going to leave the castle black scenery! gosh, it was getting boring as heck, eh? and, yes, it's THE hardhome. we'll be spending a bit of time at eastwatch too, so exciting times! are you guys looking forward to it?
> 
> as for the romance bit, man, i could feel the awkwardness as if i was actually there, yikes.
> 
> sadly, i can't afford compensating with an early update after this delay. so, next chapter is coming, as per usual, after four days. more specifically, on sunday, the 12th of november (assuming i don't fall in a ditch or something).
> 
> thank you so much for all the support and i'm beyond happy so many of you are enjoying the story so far. and there's still soooo much in store. ;)
> 
> p.s. a message for those following my other story, "orchid's delight" - i had to put the fic on hold for a while because my computer is stupid and I LOST THE 3-4 CHAPTERS I HAVE WRITTEN IN ADVANCE. ughhhh. it's frustrating as hell. but i didn't abandon it. i will put out an update sometime soon, though, so fret not.


	15. UPDATE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a small psa about my disappearance and the future of this fic!

hey, guys!

yes, i'm still alive, but just barely. i've had quite a rough month with a bunch of personal issues, including mental health and a new job that's been wearing me down and i had no energy left for any of my hobbies. but, now, it seems like i'm on a good path! more than that, i feel like returning to the things that i used to love will also help me deal with my mental state a great deal.

that being said,  **this fic will continue!**

i apologize for not making any updates sooner, but i was in an uncertain place and i did not want to lead anyone on. 

as for  _when_ exactly you can expect a new chapter, i can't say for certain. it could be tonight, the earliest, or somewhere in the weekend, the latest.

i hope you guys are still on board with the story and are excited for its continuation because i surely am!

thank you for those of you that had patience. sadly, life happens, and life as a creator largely depends on mood, energy, and free time.


End file.
